


don't break the connection; i'm calling i'm reaching

by imperiality (orphan_account)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ! - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Happy Ending, Original Character(s), Road Trips, Soulmates, Unhealthy Relationships, light nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-03-18 14:30:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 59,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13683594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/imperiality
Summary: When Allura was a little girl, her pride was put to the test. All she needed to do was slide her body between the monkey bars, and wave to all her friends before recess ended.In another state, Lance felt her collision with frightening commiseration.Now, 20 years later, Lance is sick of his life and sick of his job. What better idea than to run away from it all? He persuades Allura to come with. He succeeds in varying definitions- certainly not if Lotor's going to have anything to say about it.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starboyshiro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starboyshiro/gifts).



> For [starboy-shiro!~](https://starboy-shiro.tumblr.com) I know Allurance isn't the OTP, but I hope I can still deliver. 
> 
> It's going to be... not a bumpy ride, but certainly no rose garden, either. The ending though? I'm cooking up some Good Stuff ';)
> 
> (((Also, I am so deeply sorry and embarrassed for not having this ready by now. I hope to post the last chapters throughout the week, so we'll see))
> 
> Anyway, happy Valentine's day!! Enjoy <3 <3

“Come on _Piquito Lanctio_ , get your ass moving!”

“I told you guys to stop calling me that!” 

Yeah, Lance is going to tell them that til he’s blue in the face. Does that mean they’ll actually stop by the time they’re 30? Unlikely.

“Hey little Lancey. You go to Rolo’s brother’s party last night?”

“No, he didn’t. He shoulda though, Benny brought a 6-pack and let me take a swig.”

“Yeah, and you got drunk off your ass Rolo.”

“Oh shut your face Nicky,” he pushed his friend’s shoulder. “What do you know?"

“I know that seeing your brother's hammered face is the funniest thing that happened all weekend. Well, right after seeing your-“

“I’m warning you!” he raises his fist.

Rolo, Nicky and Lance can’t shove each other out of the way fast enough. Recess was too short, but Nicky’s “can you even _get_ drunk on just a swig of beer?” makes it feel longer. Not in a good way.

Rolo sticks out his foot to trip Lance before they get to their seats. But Lance caught himself- _eat that you sucker-_ and flips the bird in delicious, satisfying victory. Short lived of course, when his friend _whaps_ him behind the head.

 _“_ Ugh, stop it Nick. _”_

 _“_ Yeah? Make me you little punk _.”_

Shorter lived, when the teacher comes around to collect the weekend’s homework. Did Nicky or Rolo actually do it? Even more unlikely than the cessation of Piquito Lancito.

“Boys.” The teacher says. He holds out his hand, lifting up his fingers in silent demand. “Homework?”

“Why you lookin at me?” (Could Rolo’s elevator eyes get _any louder?_ ) “I don’t got it.”

The teacher sighs. He lifts his brow. He turns to face Nicky, already expended. “Homework.”

“Ask Lancey. He probably has it.” 

_Snicker snicker snicker._

The cycle repeats. The sighing, the lifting, the turning. A methodical machine; the teacher moves to hold out his hand to Lance. Even more monotone, even more thinly the teacher says

“Homework?”

Oh. But not as monotone. Not as thin. A little flicker of hope… the faintest taste of expectation. Expectation? No no, no, Lance can’t have any of that. Not when he looks over to his friends’ smarmy faces and watches as they bat their pretty lashes. Not when his very _pride_ is on the line. 

Lance almost swats his teacher’s hand away for Dramatic Effect, but considers the Cool Route better for the long run. “Nah, teach. Sorry.”

And at this point, Teach knows better than to shake his head. “I would say I’m disappointed,” he looks at them all plainly. “If I were still surprised.” He walks away smoothly. “This will reflect very much on your grades, boys.”

_Eye-roll, eye-roll, eye-roll._

Except Lance. Lance doesn’t roll his eyes. He doesn’t flip off his poor, underpaid and overworked teacher. He doesn’t snicker he doesn’t goad. 

Quietly, quickly and discreetly, Lance pulls out his textbooks and folders. Okay, so… one folder in particular. He flops all of his crap on top of the certain blue folder, hidden away from some certain smarmy eyes. 

He wouldn’t be caught dead if they caught him with his grade-saving homework. Like he said, he’s got his pride to save.

On the other hand, he’s got his entire 3rd grade to save.

“Alright class, good morning. I trust  our weekends were eventful and exciting, but now it’s time to focus. Everyone pull out your history books, and turn to page-“ he writes on the white board, droning and droning.

Teach talks on.

He did make a good point, though. (As teachers are sometimes known to do.) Lance needs a little excitement. Just to take a break from all this second grade _nonsense._

 

_—_

 

Allura already feels winded from trying to pull herself up on all these monkey bars. They always looked so open, easy and friendly from the ground looking up. Now that she’s actually trying to surmount them?

She’s going to happily point out here that the operative term here is “trying”.

It’s the cool thing to do, though! All her friends have already done it. The whole _class_ has already done it, and she just can’t let that stand. She can’t be the only one left out. (She can’t let this be yet another thing that she lets separate her.)

In the spirit of trying and achieving and impression, she’s climbing up the bars. The thing is, though- these are no ordinary monkey bars. No, no. For you see, to surmount these particular monkey bars, a process of 2 parts must be followed. Part the first? The climb.

“You’re there, Allura! It’s not that hard- just slip yourself right through!”

Part the second? Sliding the entirety of her person through the wide-opened gaps of the bars. Not that difficult in theory. All that difficult in reality. Just slip herself through? Allura doesn’t think so.

It’s bad enough Allura’s bad with heights. It’s bad enough she’s had to climb the entire thing by her own power. It’s bad enough she’s always been weak, enough she’s always had a “weak constitution”. It’s bad enough her pride is on the line. Hard enough when her mind won’t stop yelling at her _what if you fall, what if you don’t fit, what if-_

No. It’s all bad. But she’s determined to make this something good. When she sits in the open space, she is going to be _great_. 

She’s going to achieve greatness if it kills her.

_Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Allura._

She’ll achieve greatness if she has to spend all day. 

That sounds more accurate. 

“Look! You made it!”

“Wha-“ she looks around her and- that sounds promising. She’s made it! She’s done it! She’s great!

Basking in her greatness, Allura sits in her appointed place, looking over and out on her fiefdom. Surely nothing could dampen her mood. There is positively nothing in her mind that she could even fathom that would sour such a grand display.

“Okay everyone!” an anvil to the heart. “Back to class time!” A final grain of sand in an hourglass.

She’s sitting great up here, but. Uh. How is she going to get down?  
“Allura, sweetie! Are you going to join us?”

“Y-Yes Ms.Ryner. I’ll be right there!”

That’s the hope, anyway. From the playground mulch, her friends and classmates are beginning to crowd. Not so great. 

Allura is beginning to have some regrets. They wear peeling paint on metal bars and hazy expressions on multiplying faces. Her regrets are diverse. They hold many faces.

No longer are the screams of _can you take the climb_ and _can you take the height._ Now they press only one cry: _how to get down how to get down, how to get down-_

_—_

 

Lance is feeling a little lightheaded. Like the ground is being taken from him. Why are cold pressure points digging into this arms and back? Why does his torso feel so cramped?

Maybe if he just…

“Lance, if you needed to let your _wiggles_ out you should have done so at recess.”

Yeah? Well Lance didn’t have the wiggles at recess.

Wiggles?

When had Lance started fidgeting so bad in his seat?

Why is his breathing getting so fast? Why is his vision swimming, why can’t he sit _still_?

 

—

 

“Allura, dear. It’s time to come back to class. Climb down now, alright?”

Doesn’t Ms.Ryner know she would have already done that if she could? She would love to get down and get back to class. She would love to think her Favorite Student status is still standing, but she can feel it dwindling with all the dirty looks she’s trying not to look down at.

She can’t look down. She can’t think downward thoughts lest she reminds herself of the descent, the potential. The potential of the fall, the hurt, the snap the _break_ \- she can’t, she cant. She would. But she can’t.

 

—

 

Lance can’t breathe. Lance can’t sit still. He can’t, he can’t… he can’t. He can’t look down he can’t get down _he can’t breathe._

Why can’t he breathe? What is wrong with him?

“Lance?” Fuzzy, his teacher’s voice registers. “What’s going on?”

What’s going on? Lance would love to know.

He’s shaking, shaking. These tremors won’t leave him, he’s jerking in his seat. His heart can’t fit inside his chest, his hands can’t hold on. He’s sweating he’s going to slip!

Who yanked-

 

—

 

“Allura! Just come down already!”

“What’s wrong? Just come back down the way you came! It’s not that hard!”

They’re right. It’s harder.

Especially when they’re pulling at her leg. Literally. Especially when the only thing she wants is for everyone to leave and have herself a good cry. 

“You can jump.”

She cannot! She’d break a leg, if not worse.

One more tug-

 

—

 

Lance gasps.

 

—

 

Allura’s grip loosens.

 

—

 

Lance falls out of his chair.

“ _Lance?_ ” His teacher turns around.

One more tug.

“Lance, what’s going on. Are you okay?”

 

—

 

Allura tumbles.

 

—

 

Lance is still.

What just happened. For real?


	2. Dreams and Dreaming

Lance has never been huge on the whole “yes let’s bring the whole neighborhood and the cat” idea of tattoo support. Bring a friend, sure. Bring a boyfriend, girlfriend, lover whatever. That’s not the problem. An audience of one or two, he can handle. But if you’re going to bring the whole damn state to watch your tattoo getting did? Yeah. If he wanted an audience that big, he would have auditioned for Broadway. 

He hasn’t, though. So he didn’t. He worked his ass off for this position at the tattoo shop and having 6 people surrounding him just isn’t _vibin’_ with him. You feel him? It doesn’t even matter if they’re watching his every move or not. It doesn’t matter if they’re quiet with merciless eyes or screeching with insatiable enthusiasm. None of that matters.

Because either way, these people are stretching his patience. They’re breaking his concentration. They keep looking at him, squeezing his client’s hand and they are _mussing his flow_. Lance swears, silent screaming was made for people like him. 

Ignoring her entourage and a half, his client is not all that bad herself. She’s done this before (if her sloppy tramp-stamp doesn’t tell him anything,) so she isn’t even breaking a sweat.

_Neither would I be_ , Lance sips bitter poison in his thoughts. _If I had the whole state holding my hand, too._

The singing did get to be a bit much, though.

_Ahh, just let the humming needles be my lullaby._

That much could probably sustain him. Not this chic, though. No, she needed background, middleground and foreground music all to lull the pain away. 

Is it ridiculous? Yes. It absolutely is. Are they crowding up his entire work station? Yes. They absolutely are. Is Lance going to do anything about it? No. Absolutely not.

No, no no no absolutely not. This woman wants a whole sleeve- shoulder to wrist- lined to a T by the end of her appointment. Lance will deliver.

If he has to entertain Tampa, Orlando, Kissimmee and Winter Park while he’s doing it? He’ll be okay. It’ll get him better online Yelp ratings. Right? Besides, if he does well, she’ll be coming back for the coloring and shading with only _his_ praises leaving _her_ lips every time she leaves. And praises? _Way_ better than a frickin’ Yelp review.

Too bad that her sleeve takes the majority of his day. Every line had to be perfect, every design seamlessly smooth. It had to be! Didn’t he just get done whining about his audience? If it’s not praises, it’s going to be _BSing_ leaving their lips, and Lance really isn’t about that life.

It takes him most of the day to get this woman finished, but he’s still got a good hour to go. 

_Uuuuggh, but I don’t_ wannaa.

Pobrecito Lancito. Too bad he’s _gotta._

Lance takes his final appointment of the day (that blessedly comes _alone_ ), cleans up, then clocks the heckles out of that joint. He goes home the same way he has every night before. The same way he will every night to come.

He looks both ways thrice before stepping too far away from the shop. He crosses the street, unlocks his bike, then rides to the bus station. Waits for the bus. Takes the Lynx for too many stops that he ever has time to count. Steps off. Remounts. Then rides his happy, merry piece of trash metal back to his piece of garbage apartment like he has every night before.

Like he might every night to come.

Lance thinks that’s what terrifies him the most.

He’s had that steady(ish) job at the tattoo parlor for a few years now. He has his usuals, he hears the stories. Living vicariously will never not be a dream come true to him.

Except when it stops being enough. 

Like on nights like tonight.

Nights like tonight when he bikes himself home, and everything’s on blank. He’s trying to turn a channel, any channel on but they’re all fuzzy and grey. 

Nights like tonight when he can smell the rain coming in the air, and knows it’s only going to last just as long as his fake, plastered smile. Nights when the years have already come and gone too fast. Nights like tonight when he thinks back on his day… but dreams of _more._

More… more what.

More than this rinky-dink punkass _apartment_ , for starters. He dreams of, oh, he doesn’t know. Maybe high-rises and cityscapes more polished and clean than Orlando. He’s always liked the idea of _out_ and away. He's not picky. His dreams are polluted with taunts of silence.

It seems like more will always be less to Lance. The lack of sirens and horns and gunshots to disrupt a good night's sleep. (He’s got needles and beautiful women to hold in the morning, dammit!) He dreams of some way, somehow, that he can escape his own life. He can escape himself. 

Lance doesn’t know if the drama was nurtured or natured. His family was always loud. His friends were even louder. (And growing louder, still.) His laughter is loud, his evenings are loud; noise follows him.

He dreams of peace and quiet.

_More,_ he wants _more!_

He’s allowed to want more money! He’s allowed to want more room, want more space. For one, infinitesimal moment, may he not be claustrophobic? He dreams of reaching his arms out wide and not bumping into anything in the process. He dreams of owning more than the shirt on his back. The cement blocks he lays his mattress on.

He’s allowed to hope. 

The thin shreds of his sanity are withheld only by the hope in his escapism. He, his _person_ can’t get out and away but his mind sure can. His dreams, his hopes? They are all more aptly called his imagination. Where life doesn’t take him, he demands his flights of fancy to. 

They take him to beach houses on the shore of vibrant, blue waters. His imagination and _hope_ take him to places where he buttons 3-piece suits.

_Why stop there? Why stop there when someone could be buttoning my vest and jacket for me?_

They take him to places where he has more than 2 kinds of cheap colognes. To places where his bed is always warm and his roof is always intact and his AC is always working. Where his mattress sits in a king-sized frame of solid cherry oak. Where all of his responsibilities are taken care of for him, and all he needs to do is be a pretty face chatting to pretty people. 

Where he’s surrounded by pretty people in kind. Or maybe just a pretty person. In the singular. Why stop _there_? In his Hopes, he has a _beautiful_ woman to be a trophy husband or lover to every single night. She, draping and glistening with jewels. He, sleek and proud and competent and _content._

Loved.

His hopes take him back to his mother, and a place where she didn’t have to work so hard. Where she could have more quiet herself. Where she’d be dripping of jewels and living in penthouses.

You know, Lance could have really made something of himself. He doesn’t like to blame others (too much), but his Hope nights coincide with his Not Wanting to Take Onus nights. His friends held him back, he knows it. He starts by blaming them, blaming the consequence of their tether. His teachers never cared about him. Always wrote him off. His mother didn’t mean to; she was just too busy. He blames piss-ass politics, the _Man_? Who else can he point fingers at, while he’s at it? He’s got his whole damn night. 

Only one night to list all the nonsense of Lance’s whole life? That hardly sounds fair.

Yeah. Okay, then. Add it to the list.

On nights like this, he takes _himself_ to a place where he isn’t so _petty_. 

Then, when his hopes go too far (even for him), he makes himself come back down. 

And while he’s back on Earth, he makes himself a bowl of soup for dinner and hopes no more. He chills it with all the wanting and lays himself down like every night before.

Alone.

Lonely.

Cold, tired. So _freaking_ tired.

Just… in this general state of Done.

Like every night to come.

 

—

 

Allura misses Georgetown. She misses it terribly, terribly. Terribly. She misses the hustle bustle of young professionals in their sharp blacks and purples. Vivid reds. She misses Georgetown; its Metro stop a 10 minute walk from her apartment where in the spring, she could take herself to see the cherry blossoms. And she would. While she was in Georgetown, Allura would wake herself up at 5:30, be out of the house at 6:30 and be in and out of the heart of DC before all the rush. All the tourists.

Georgetown was so beautiful. It was so charming. It was _decisive._ Georgetown had definable, quantifiable seasons that Allura could always predict. It got hot in the summer. Spring was fickle and sexual. She always knew when it was spring; her consternation was always wardrobe-induced. Fall was colorful, lively and morbid in the most beautiful ways. Biking under the cobblestone bridges never ceased to take her breath away. 

Winter was never her favorite, but she could always, always rely on its extremity. Its presence. It’s relative dryness aside from the melting snow. It’s _coldness._

Malibu doesn’t get “cold”. It doesn’t get snow. Malibu gets… mild. Malibu gets winter in weird, indecisive spurts and Allura’s not fond of it at all. Malibu winters are disagreeable to Allura, with their lacking coldness, their lacking snow and overcompensating _wet._

See, if Allura were in Georgetown right now, then she would know to wear her knit stockings, oxford heels and layers upon layers to an art exhibit. She would know that her focal points she would want to direct at were her chest, lips and hair. 

That’s why all of her dresses still have heavy embroidery or embellishment on the bodice. That’s why all of her jewelry is meant to be interchangeable. Eye-catching. That’s why all of her combs and hairpins are the biggest jewelry she has. It would also serve to explain the rich guava-red lipsticks. The potent vervain lipstains.

If Allura were in Georgetown, she would have known all that. She would have all of it already in her arsenal. 

But no.

Allura is in Malibu. 

And because of such, she had to give away her knit stockings. Her hair comb reservoir. Her lipsticks, her lipstains- all of them gone.

Please don’t get her wrong! She isn’t complaining about all that. She likes the change. Welcomes it, even. What better beauty is there to life than that of diversification? Newness of the unusual?

She’ll tell you what’s better.

Georgetown winters.

Georgetown winters are better than Malibu winters, and Allura will never stop professing this with all of her being for the rest of her life. Her new city just makes the season so… grey. When she was in DC, the entirety of the cold months felt silver and expensive. California just has an unfortunate way of cheapening things.

Maybe this art exhibit will redeem it for her.

“Allura, darling?” 

Ah, well. Malibu can’t be all bad.

“I’m in here, Lotor!”

Her boyfriend has to be one of the most brilliant people she knows.

He slinks in behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Kissing her cheek in a feather-light touch. (So light it’s almost non-existent.) 

_Sniff, sniff._

“Allura… is this something new?”  He continues to nuzzle, kiss, breathe in the the new perfume at her neck.

And already, the winter doldrum is lifting. “Why yes it is, thank you for noticing.” (Lotor doesn’t have to be the only one intoxicated by attention.) She continues fixing at her hair, _like it needed any fixing in the first place._

“ _Mmm._ ” Lotor stops nuzzling. He meets her reflection’s gaze. He can’t help imploring, though. “But you do know how much I love it when you wear what I get for you.” He drags a lock of her hair behind her shoulder. “I don’t expect my gifts to come back in void.”  
Allura rolls her shoulders back, “Of course not, sweetheart.”

Stepping away just a touch, Lotor takes in her whole ensemble. “The blue really does look stunning on you.”

“Why thank you-“

“But this is an exhibit, Allura” he says, stepping back in closer. He catches her eyes again, dimming in his wake. “There’s no need to compete. Why don’t you wear that little grey thing I got you a while ago?”

She stops fixing at herself. “The grey thing?”

“Yes, yes. You know which dress I’m talking about. I got it for you just last Christmas,” he flippant gestures to the closet. Ah, but then he scoffs, “Or maybe it’s already ‘out of season’ for you.”

“No, it isn’t!” Allura shakes her head vigorously. “I love that dress. You always have the best taste.” At last, she turns herself around from the mirror to face him. Assure him. “I’ll wear it.”

“Very good.”

They proceed to get ready together in silence. She in the bathroom, he in the bedroom. With her last coat of mascara, she calls for him once again.

“At this exhibit,” she asks between pauses of applying her lipstick, “who all is going to be there?”

“Oh, only all of your favorite people.” Lotor smiles, clipping his cufflinks.

“The Arusians?” Allura’s smile is too wide to keep adorning herself.

“Sarcasm, darling.” The smile wanes. “I told you before, this is more of a networking function than anything. Acxa, Narti, Ezor and Zethrid are all going to be there. How could I pass up the opportunity to speak with them? For reasons that still elude me, they are very sharp minds.” He laughs to himself. “At this rate,” he lifts his eyes a bit, “the whole firm must be going.”

“All of them are going to be there?” _All those women?_

“Yes, they are Allura.

“Oh…”

Lotor drops his head. “ _‘Lura_. I know you don’t like them for whatever silly reasons, but for tonight, can you not let them know that?”

“When have I ever let them know that?” Allura resumes her application.

But Lotor isn’t having any of that. “Can you promise me?”

So Allura will concede. “Yes! Yes, I can do that.”

“ _Wonderful_ ,” his words curl around neck and her heart. He slinks behind her to rest his head atop hers. “I know you can be charming. It is always such a treat to see that rare side of yours.”

To that, Allura doesn’t know how to respond. Instead she’ll reroute, so she gently wiggles from his hold. “You’re ready, then?”

“I am only if you are.” He looks her up and down. “You’re ready?”

“I only need to grab my bag then I’m set.”

He pauses. “Only if you’re certain.”

 

—

 

Then, on other nights, Lance likes to take his imagination somewhere tangible. Somewhere liquid. Liquid imagination? No, that sounds to acid-y. (Not that he hasn’t taken it _there_ either, but that’s not what he’s referring to now.) 

Liquid courage, then?

That’s more like it.

On some nights more often than not, he marches his happy ass to the nearest, least palmetto-infested bar. _Naxzela._ (In another life, he’d think it sad he has to keep his bar so low.)

Naxzela's got everything a lonely man could possibly want. Good (enough) beer, terrible company and even worse music. Oh. And he couldn’t possibly forget the peeling, faded pool tables and dart boards. They add to the ambiance. 

They take up the bulk of his time.

Between his wallowing and his dreaming, he makes these increasing bets his anchor. 

_I can’t let go of myself today if I’ve got something to pay back tomorrow, right?_

It’s poisonous in all the worst ways. It was one of the only things keeping Lance from going atmospheric. 

_What_? He can’t do it all, people. He’s either on planet earth Land or planet earth Air. He’s either murderously sober or whimsically drunk, and that’s just how it is. That’s just how it’s gotta be. 

What’s _gotta be_ right now is this damn ball in the pocket. If he even thinks about breathing on the 8 ball wrong, he's out… ugh. He doesn't even want to think about it.

He bets his restlessness away.

He drinks _out, off, back, no longer_ his boredom. 

But only on some nights. 

Nights when he doesn’t want to be so freaking charming? This is when you’ll find him out.

 

—

 

Allura is scared to think of how much time she’s already wasted trying to chat with people she couldn’t care less about. She knows she and Lotor’s… co-workers will never be friends. Friends in the proper. She doesn’t even think they tepidly tolerate her. They _put up_ with her.

Zethrid’s grip is the tightest. Every time they shake hands, it’s like she has to assert her dominance. (Which is redundant; Allura only has to look at the woman to assume it.)

Narti is not as strong, but no less intimidating. Her silent criticizing and stiletto-sharp gaze put Allura on edge. If she could be put in a word? She would be _unnerving._ Allura is trepidatious to even look at her, much less shake her hand.

Acxa and Ezor are the most frightening to her in equal amounts, but for different reasons.

She only ever sees Acxa frown. She only ever sees Ezor smile. They’re both looks of intelligence- enlightenment. Perverse satisfaction. The surmounting of overwhelming ignorance.

They always look like they know something Allura _doesn’t_.

Which, okay, is also a redundant statement. _Think, Allura. Who here are the lawyers, and who here isn’t?_ She’d think to be humbled by their dedication and intensity, if she weren’t already _wary_ of their dedication and intensity. 

But Lotor said to be charming. So charming she will be.

“What do you think of this piece?” Allura tries for amicable.

Ezor lifts one perfectly-penciled brow, grinning. “Frankly, I think all this art crap is going to put me to sleep.” She swishes her glass a few times. “And the only thing keeping me upright right now is this 12-dollar-a-glass wine.”

“Don’t listen to her, Allura.” Acxa pulls the glass from Ezor’s hand, then moves to stand on Allura’s other side. “At least not about the wine. This art is in fact, garbage. On this we can agree.”

Not for the first time since coming, the awkward woman in the middle thinks back to art being her walking and breathing. Art in, off and around the Metro. Art that surrounded her and embraced her on city corners, public buildings. Art she didn’t even have to pay to see. Art she could simply walk to.

“You know, I used to live near DC and the-“

“‘Lu!” Next to Lotor approaches a man with the same kind of sharp smile-snarl thing his entire law firm shares.

_Because I couldn't get any tenser._

“Ladies. I see you’ve been chatting?”

“Yeah,” Ezor practically yawns, pushing her hair behind her shoulder. “About why we all agreed seeing a pretentious art exhibit was a good idea. Someone remind me why it was a good idea?”

“I thought we agreed it wasn’t.” Axca says.

“Oh, yeah. Right.”

“Well, if you’ll forgive my interruption.” Lotor gestures to the man beside him. “I’d like you to meet the Senior Partner of the firm, Allura. He was good enough to come out this evening.”

His eyes flicker to hers. They say ( _warn_ ) among the lines of _this is the time most to charm_.

Allura can beckon to a call.

Holding her hand out, she grasps the final hand of the night. “Pleased to meet you.”

“My goodness, I just had the most divine idea. Ladies and gentleman, can you even bare to hear it?”

Ezor chuckles, “What is it, Lotor?”

“Since we’re all here together,” slings an arm over Allura, “why don’t we,” lets the suspense build. “Finish the walk and our wine together? We promise not to talk too much business while we’re here. We can’t be mixing our business with pleasure, isn’t that right?”

Allura can concede to a whim.

_But not without another glass of wine._

She walks to the concessions vendor, but not before Lotor grips her wrist. Lowly, sweetly,  evenly he asks, “Don’t you think you’ve had enough of that for the night?”

Ah. Well. She guesses she has, then.

Continuing on with an empty glass, she finishes the walk meandering with the company of _Galra & Co Law._

She has the feeling it’s only just the beginning of a rather long night.

 

—

 

It wouldn’t be fair of Lance to _only_ trash-talk Naxzela. Yeah, okay, sometimes the company’s _me da igual._ Sometime’s the company is just awful. But sometimes… and Lance does mean _some_ of the time… It isn’t all that bad. 

As a matter of fact, he would dare to venture that once in a blue moon, Naxzela’s company can be- he’s nervous to even say the word- _good_.

He knows, he knows. He said it. Lance said Naxzela can sometimes be Good, and he didn’t even stutter. He’s not going to take it back, either.

Cause sometimes? Sometimes things happen to go his way. An old fling walking towards him is definitely something he’d call “going his way.”

_Don’t blow this again._

“Nyma-a,” he whistles. “Radiant,” he kisses his fingers. “Beautiful as always.”

“ _Pffft,_ ” she shakes her head as she laughs. “Now I know for a matter of fact that you say that to all the girls, so we’re going to move right along.”

“Hey, taking things at your own pace. I can dig it. It’s been awhile. What brings you to my humble neck of the woods?”

Nyma and her blonde-haired brilliance; she and her light-eyed captivation; she with her gentle-handed touches; lays a tender palm on Lance’s shoulder as she laughs again at his expense. “Please, Lance. I don’t know how exactly you forget, but Florida is not ‘southern’. You, poor thing, are not ‘southern’. Please? For all our sakes? Stop trying.”

“But _gurl_ ,” he drawls out. “ _You’re the sweetest damn thing I’ve been seein’ round these parts lately, ya hear?_ ”

_That_ finally gets a laugh out of her. Okay! Score one for Lance. 

“But seriously, Nyma.” He sets his beer down on the counter, settling in for the long haul. “I haven’t seen you lately, girl. What’s going on?” He taps his fingers. A lightbulb goes off. “Ahh, I see what it is.”

Lowly, sweetly, evenly Nyma asks “And what is ‘this’, precisely?”

“‘This?’” Lance wags a finger between the two of them. “Is you coming to ask me for another favor. I just know it. I know it, how much you wanna bet I’m right.”

“Oh, Lancey! Come on,” she runs a hand up and down his arm. _Just like old times._ “An ex can’t just stop by and check up on how things are? On how life’s going?”

“O- _kay_ ,” Lance stutters out breathless laughter. “There is so much _wrong_ in what you just said, so I’m going to just… what was your technique? Right. ‘Move right along.’”

“Ha, ha, ha.” Nyma huffs in a staccato monotone. (Her trailing fingertips can’t get any more fluid though, as they trace from his biceps down to his forearm.) “Fair enough.” Her hand slows… circling around his forearm, then traveling lower to his wrist.

Lance would be lying if he said that wasn’t _hella_ distracting.

Nyma knows she’s got him right where she wants him.

Continuing, she lowers her voice further to say “But come on, Lance. Sure we didn’t work out, but that happens to everyone at least what? 10 times in their life? Unless you’re a prude. And Lance, hate to break it to you friend, but you’re no prude. Not if my memory of those _amazing nights we spent together-“_

“Yes, yes I remember.” _How could I forget?_ “Are you saying you want a round _20_? Cause like, damn let me get my stuff together, I’d be down right now-“

“Down, boy.” Nyma snickers, patting his hand. “No, no I don’t want some cheap hookup. You deserve better than that.”

And… Lance can’t argue with that. But her soft, deft fingers are still painting tantalizing swirls against his hand so his attention isn’t 100% there. He’s trying to look in her eyes, but right now it’s like he can only look everywhere _but_.

“You still stuck at that tattoo parlor?”

Lance’s mouth is filling with cotton. “Uh, uh… yeah. Yeah. I’m still there, still inkin’ it up.”

“Oh, Lance. Don’t tell me you’re still in that dinky apartment, too?”

He nods dumbly.

“No!” She grips his hand _tight_. “See! What did I tell you. You deserve so much more than that. Aren’t you tired of living that way? You could be doing so much better for yourself. I know you know it, too.”

Oh. Oh wait. More lightbulbs. “I see what this is. For real, now.” He grips her hand in turn. “This is a different kind of proposition. You don’t want a favor.”

“No I don’t.”

“You’re telling me about a job.”

Her loosening grip and smokey grin tell him everything he needs to know. “Yes I am.”

Lance is… he’s thinking that this maybe isn’t the most friendly meeting.

“Do I… Do I even want to know what kind of job?”

“I know you’re still in contact with Rolo-“

“Fu- _damn it_!” Lance bites.

“And I know he told you about that deal he tried to cut with you. I don’t see what the problem is; you and him were school buddies, weren’t you? You, Rolo and Nicky. You don’t trust your friends?”

“Well, Nyma, the thing is that I wouldn’t necessarily call them ‘friends’, you know?”

From behind him, rising mere decibels over the music comes an unamused voice he knows all too well. “Ooh, buddy. That cuts me deeply.”

“ _Roolooo!_ My man!” Ow, Lance’s smile is so fake and wide it hurts. (To make _and_ to watch.) “What are the chances of seeing some of my favorite people in one of my favorite places on the same night? Crazy stuff, bud.”

“Cut the crap, _Piquito._ ” Rolo snarls. “I’m tired of playing all these games. I’ve tried being nice, I’ve tried being patient. If I knew I would be wasting all this time I never would have bothered.”

“Babe, shut up.” Nyma swats a hand to Rolo’s chest. “He just needed some more persuasion.”

“Yeah, and I told you I think your ‘persuasion’ is dumb.” He opens a hand out to she and Lance in front of him. “I think I rest my case?”

Lance doesn’t even care that they’re talking about him right in front of his face. He’d rather be resting himself in a satin-lined coffin at this point.

_Just when I thought the company was going well._

 

—

 

Allura no longer has that glass to distract herself with. All this art around her is too meaningless to dive herself into. 

The conversations around her are too… _something_ to listen in on. Is that bad of her to say?

Lotor’s been talking with the Senior Partner Man for the majority of their trip, and she knows how important it is for him to network. It’s so he can take better care of her.

Ezor and Acxa are a power force to be reckoned with; Allura doesn’t dare disrupt them. 

Generally speaking, when it comes to Lotor’s co-workers she just… doesn’t speak unless spoken to.

It’s worked out well so far.

But this night is growing ever longer. The wine is starting to get at her a bit. Her feet are starting to hurt and her chest is buzzing with a kind of emotion she can’t place. 

To be perfectly frank, Allura is… Allura’s a little bored.

Bored?

Why that’s a _terrible_ thing to say! She can’t be bored! Not when her boyfriend is busy being successful and suave and the other women beside her are just as _exalted._

_Why_ is she so bored? Shouldn’t she be able to keep up with their conversation? Yes, yes she should. She can. 

She shakes her head a bit and retunes in to the conversation.

“ _And my client is saying she wants to-_ “

“ _That’s already the fourth time you’ve said that to me. A revolutionary thought for you: talk with her about it. Or get a_ better defense.”

_“Oh now it’s my fault, I appreciate that_.

So. That’s it for Acxa and Ezor. Maybe Zethrid?

“ _Hey! They got any_ whiskey _in this place?_ ”

Nope.

Allura’s not even going to bother with trying to listen in to Lotor’s chat. She knows better.

She’s trying! Allura’s trying to keep up and get connected but she _can’t_. She can’t do it, and she feels bad. She feels bad- she feels guilty.

_Shouldn’t_ she be making more of an effort to befriend these women? At least be on better terms with them? Like Lotor’s said, it’s the least she can do for letting her move in with him from Georgetown. 

If she really cared, she thinks she would be keeping up. 

If she really loved Lotor, she thinks she would already be friends with his entire office by now.

 

—

 

 

“Stop backing in and out, Lance.” Rolo holds a finger to his chest.

“Whoa, whoa, whoah. Careful where you’re pointing that thing.”

“I _swear_ Lance, if you-“

“Boys. Boys,” Nyma situates herself squarely between them. “Relax. Rolo, put that away,” she plucks his hand away from Lance’s chest. “And you,” she swivels her stool to challenge him. “What _is_ your problem? It’s just one little delivery. Only you, Nicky and Rolo are going to know about it. Aside from me, of course.”

_That’s just the thing._ Lance sweats. It’s not just a ‘simple delivery’.

Rolo swings his arm over his shoulders. Just like old times. “We know we haven’t been the ‘Good Guys’ a lot, okay? We get it. You don’t want to be seen with trouble-makers like us. You got yourself clean and did your ‘new life’ thing or whatever. That’s cool. I get it.”

Lance scoffs.

“No, no. Really I do.” Rolo surrenders his hands. “And that’s cool. But just think about it. A 3-way split just between you, Nicky and I. One run. A few hours, tops. Listen to the woman, Lance. This could be just the money you need to get out.”

“Get out?”

“Yeah, dude.” Rolo plops himself in the stool to Lance’s left. Nyma remains on his right and together, they corner and squeeze and crowd over him. Rolo proceeds with his _sleazy, infuriating_ and _infuriatingly sleazy_ voice. “Little delivery _Piquito Lancito._ Hell- I’m going to be the one _driving_.”

“Okay, okay, okay.” Lance waves out his hands. “Then why do you need _me_?”

“We need someone to watch the road, someone to watch the cops and someone to watch the goods. You feel me?”

Lance really wishes he didn’t.

“An even 3-way cut, you said?”

Rolo’s smile is slimy _sewage._ “Yeaah, he’s getting it now.”

 

—

 

Why do Allura’s arms feel so nervous? 

Why do her legs feel so jittery?

_Maybe I shouldn’t have had all that wine…_

 

—

 

Lance wrings his hands. “I… I don’t know. I don’t think-“

_STRIKE-_

 

—

 

“ ** _AHH!_** _Ow!”_ Allura is knocked off her feet.

“‘Lura?” Lotor snaps his attention around.

“Allura?”

“Good Lord.”

Good _grief_ , Allura would embarrassed about all the people surrounding her if her cheek didn’t _sting so much!_

 

—

 

“ _Stop wasting our time!_ ” Nyma screeches. “You know what? I’m done with ‘patience’ too. Enough with this in and out.”

“Nyma!” Rolo holds her wrists out on either sides of her head. “What the hell happened to ‘persuasion’?”

Her chest heaves.

Lance’s face _smarts._

She _yanks_ her hands free from Rolo’s. “ _Screw_ patience. We,” she says between breaths. “Will be waiting for your answer. Don’t be long about it.”

Lance can hear their receding voices as they walk away. “Nyma, really? People are staring.”

“Yeah?” She flips off every single spectator off with a flawlessly manicured finger. “Let ‘em stare. I’m so done.”

The two walk off, leaving Lance in a hunched ball on the floor of the bar. He holds his throbbing cheek. He can still feel all the points of Nyma’s hand striking his face. 

One by one people turn their heads and pretend not to see all of what just happened. The bartender, the only good soul in Orlando _Lance swears_ , helps him up to his feet.

“Do I want to know what that was all about?”

“No.” Lance immediately shakes his head. He pulls down his shirt. Combs out his hair. Brushes his hands down his pants. “You really don’t, buddy.”

His face is red, he just knows it.

His vision is wavering.

His head is _swimming_.

 

—

 

Lotor has been playing the Quiet Game Car Ride with Allura for more than 40 minutes now. He’s really quite a master. Allura’s impressed.

Or, she would be if she weren’t still so shocked and rattled and confused.

She pushes the silence. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I don’t know what happened to me.”

Lotor chews- and bites something back before replying. “I would surely hope you didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“It was-“

“You couldn’t save that little episode for somewhere… oh I don’t know. A little more private, perhaps?”

“It just happened all of a sudden!” She’s trying to catch his eye from the passenger seat, but he’s got his eyes totally fixed on the road.

“Allura.” He sighs out of his nose. “Do I need to remind you that the _entire_ firm was there?”

“No, no-“

“Apparently I do. I need you to understand something. Every time I’m with them, every time I attend a function- all eyes are on me. Do you get that? I-“ he clenches his hand above his thigh. “We don’t have time for little out-spurts like this. Okay?”

“Okay, Lotor.”

“You just,” he scoffs. He resigns. “You should have seen the look on your face. That was a little much, Allura. Everyone turned to watch. And I do mean everyone.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” she whispers. 

They sit in silence a few moments more. Allura breaches over it one more time. 

“I don’t know how to explain it Lotor, it…” she runs her hand back over the fizzing nerves of her cheek. “It felt like someone _slapped_ me.”

Lotor lays a flat hand out beside him. “Whatever it was, it can’t happen again. Let’s try to leave the dramatics at home, yes?”

“Yes, Lotor.”

“Very good.” He nods.

This time, after another strained silence, it is he that breaks the ice.

“How about this, Allura. I know it’s been a long night for you. Why don’t we go home, we can change, and I’ll rub your shoulders. Would you like that?”

“Yeah…” she sighs.

“Yeah? Well alright then.”

Then they both turn to face the straight, unending highway. Silence persists.

Allura’s cheek still aches.

Her confusion only builds.

 

—

 

The last kinds of nights of all:

The Regret.

Lance drags his pitiful, beautiful face home, trudging himself through the rain. He opens his apartment again, and soaks his doormat and carpet through. 

The cold drops just barely help the swelling on his face.

Peeling off all his clothing at he doorstep, he recounts every regret he made through the night.

He regrets his company. 

He regrets drinking so much.

He regrets pulling himself back to the pool table when he knows every time before has only brought him grief. (Maybe the pool table isn’t his anchor, but his insanity.)

As a matter of fact? He regrets dragging himself out in the first place.

Now he has to suffer the whole night through with replays of his conversation with Nyma and Rolo.

It’s pretty suffice to say that sleep doesn’t come easy to him. All night, he tosses and turns with echos of the sharpness of their voices. Phantom sensations of Nyma’s hasty hand.

He is regretful.

He is restless.

And through the whole night, his restlessness only builds.

He’s never wanted to get himself out, away and _gone_ more.

 


	3. the Out

Lance's restlessness motivates him to a productive reach-around. 

After plenty and pointless hours of tossing and turning, lying stock-still and counting the grains of his popcorn ceiling, Lance figures he should’ve called it quits hours ago. But he didn’t. So here he still is. Suffering in sleep. Counting invisible sheep. Feeling all the bed sores. 

Yeah, no. That’s enough of that.

“ _Alright, alright fine_ ” he mutters to himself.

At the ripe beautiful hour of the ass-crack of dawn, the suffering boy pulls himself from under his mother’s afghan. Pulls himself on his thickest jeans. Pulls his keys from the front door side-table and gets out of his head.

Out of his hopes, out of his dreams and the _bar_ and his _head_ and his _memories._

_He can’t get_ **_away_ ** _enough!_

He can walk away from his apartment for starters.

So he does.

That chrome-y, after-rain smell is still wafting up from the beaten streets. He walks, and counts the glistens from puddles filled with water.

He looks down from every street sign.

The more he walks, the louder his thoughts get. He knows now though: every time the thoughts grow too loud, he stops to recenter himself, counts his breath, then continues on his way. The method lasts him his whole stroll through. 

The method helps him get lost. Between deliberate ignorance and dutiful curiosity, Lance simply… wanders. 

He’s liking this wandering. 

He’s liking the fact that he doesn’t have to let himself dwell on every single mistake he's made the past day alone. Not to mention his week. Frankly, his life is a mistake on God's part as far as he’s concerned, but he doesn’t have to think about it.

He chooses not to.

He likes that he has the power and agency to think about other things than the striking palm against his cheek, so insulting to his pride and to his confidence. He likes toeing the edge of the agitated puddles. 

He doesn’t like the useless clouds covering the stars; the only other thing he can count than his crippling disappointments. 

Actually- change of heart. He is kind of thankful now.

He likes the mindless wandering.

He likes the wandering so much that not only does he lose track of his destination, he loses track of time. 

_Aww, but it was just getting good._

When he figures it should be time to start heading back, he’s already caught his third wind. 

_But maybe_ , Lance stiffly thinks, _this time will be different. Maybe this will finally be enough to get all the wind out of me._

A man can hope, right?

No. No more. He’s already been over this. There’s no more hoping for the night. There simply is or there aint. No in-between.

Enough.

Optimistic, Lance! This time when his head hits the pillow, his wind _will_ be knocked from him in all the sublime ways possible. It’ll leave him with atmosphere-less dreams. If he’s lucky, he’ll have present-less dreams. Dreams in the invisible. 

_Noo, Lance. Optimism._

Ah. Right. So then tonight, he’ll not only have “invisible” dreams; he’ll have dreams _not at all_ the whole sleep through. There we go.

So after Lance tosses his keys on the table again after an ultimately unsatisfying walk, he strips down to his knickers. His little stroll did nothing to clear his mind (or dim the swelling,) but did everything to rid the restlessness.

His short-lived positivity is not in vain.

He _groans_ when his body meets the mattress again. He scratches at his chest, settles back in, and makes himself comfortable.

The rising dawn is imminent.

His approaching dreams are inevitable. 

In the brief, wispy moments Lance has before falling into true sleep, he has these… visions. Hazy, bright and warm they flicker across his eyes. He can’t… He can’t really make out much of anything except… Is that?

Or rather, _who_ is that?

In the seconds before rest eclipses him, his mind flashes with the glimpse of eyes ethereal in color. Skin deep in saturation. Hair pale in delicacy.

In the lag before dreams escape him, his own voice echos to him only one question:

_Who are you?_

 

_—_

 

After that arduous night at the art exhibit, Allura can afford to treat herself to something nice. She drives herself to the closest Macy’s and lets herself get lost in shelf after shelf of perfumes.

For the sake of losing time, she samples every one she can.

It’s quite an ordeal.

It’s what she _deserves._

“May I help you find anything, ma’am?”

She deserves some peace and quiet, too. But she knows if she doesn’t nip this in the bud, it’s only going to prolong the noise.

“No, thank you. I’m just browsing.”

The lady behind the counter nods. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Yeah, Allura’s not going to let her count on it. She’s not saying anything even if she needed life support. 

She picks up another bottle, but halts. She just got the _most_ **sudden** craving for- 

 

—

 

Mashed potatoes. Just a whole vat of them. That is what Lance deserves. He deserves good food, a few questions answered- that all revolve around his last night’s “sleep”- and to never hear Rolo’s smarmy ass voice again.

Yet here Lance is. Mashed potatoeless. Answer-less. _Peaceless._

But he knows that if he doesn’t answer this phone call, it’s only going to prolong the mad. 

_A real bud this guy is._

He answers his maddening phone. “Yeah, Rolo?” Lance couldn’t sound more bored if he tried.

Straight to the point Rolo always is. “You thought about that deal any more?”

“No, I haven’t.”  He rubs his cheek. “I was too distracted with the stinging conviction against my hubris.” 

“Dude I don’t even know what the hell you just said.”

Lance can’t even help himself muttering “ _That’s probably for the better.”_

“You wanna run that by me again?”

“Not particularly.” He runs a tongue over his teeth. He pushes the cuticles up on his nails. “Anyway, whatever. I’m going to stop wasting both of our time. I haven’t thought more on the deal cause I haven’t wanted to. A novel concept, I know. Try to keep a hold of yourself, Rolo.”

“Lance-“ Rolo sucks in a breath. “For your own good, you better _start_ thinking ‘bout it, _un Piquito._ I know you don’t want to turn this down.”

“Okay but see like-“

“-You can try to… run yourself around. Make a new life for yourself, escape yourself as much as you can but it’s not gonna happen Little Lancey. This place is all you’ve ever had and it’s all you’ll ever know. Just give up already. Stop trying to fight it.”

Now Lance is... Now Lance is trying to fight _laughter_. Whom the _heckles_ does Rolo think he is? Some kind of foreboding, evil antagonist in a war against the universe? Where does he get off in trying to sound so mystical? No. Shut up. Rolo’s a goddamn punk is what he is. That is all _he’ll_ ever know.

“Yeah. Okay, Rolo. I’ll think about it.”

The voice on the other end of Lance’s phone raises in fervor and pitch. “Yeah well don’t take forever about it! The shipment goes out next week. We’ll be waiting.”

_beeeeeeep_

Great. He even let that bastard have the final word.

… Did he?

 

—

 

The more Allura's thinking, the more she wants those potatoes. Plain, drowning in gravy, or peppered beyond belief; she isn’t picky.

_Allura, really._ She chides. _Can you really afford those calories? Honestly. Look at yourself!_

She would look at herself. If she were any interested. The fact of the matter is- she’s ultimately not the one that has to be satisfied or repulsed with her face and figure. Lotor’s said he’s always preferred the slimmer look on Allura. 

What isn’t helping in that endeavor?

Gorging herself on mashed potatoes.

The abating is necessary! 

To stave her cravings she whiffs another perfume bottle up close to her nose, then wills the cravings away.

It’s working! For the most part. 

It’s not like the food court isn’t… a 3 minute walk down the escalators. Or anything.

_Bad Allura. Bad Allura._

She keeps meandering. She continues to spoil.

She will not let this ridiculous urge get the best of her.

 

—

 

It’s about time that Lance had the final word, the last say in his life. He never has. 

He’s more than willing to pop this particular cherry.

Lance isn’t going to put up with any damn deal. Especially not with Rolo at the wheel. Literally.

He doesn’t have to put up with “Piquito Lancito” any more. 

He doesn’t have to put up with his so called “friends” and his piss-ass apartment and.

He.

He doesn’t have to at all.

He… never really has. Not while he’s had his car. Not for as long as he’s had is Big Boy ID.

Hell, Lance doesn’t have to put up with his own job if he doesn’t want to anymore! 

…

Why should he?

Ha.

He shouldn’t.

Ha ha.

As a matter of fact, he can just take his keys and go right now if it wants to.

_Screw_ Rolo’s deal. And while he’s at it? Screw Nyma, too! (Not that he hasn’t already but the point still stands.) He doesn’t have to call Rolo back, so he won’t. There’s nothing stopping him from slapping a 2 weeks notice on his boss’s desk, so he will.

He’s going to do that right now.

Right now?

Nooo…

No. Right now he doesn’t need anything holding him back. He-

Shi-

He needs maybe some food, right? Yeah, he can pack a few lunches. He snatches a backpack, crams what? A few jeans. A few t-shirts should be good, right? Okay he’s got those. He slaps his ass. Yep. Wallet’s there. What else? His phone. _Charger_! That’s important. His keys. Already had those.

He’s got everything he'd possibly need, right? No. No he’s missing one thing. He knows just what it is.

In the midst of all his frenzy, Lance stalks back to his bedroom to grab something from beneath his bed gingerly. His little spontaneous trip wouldn’t be complete without-

“Ahh. Got you.”

His Canon Rebel. It doesn’t do much; he’s only got the kit and one extra lens but. He’s not a pro. He doesn’t need all that. Just something to quantify his memories with. 

He plucks the rest of his necessities before he jolts out the door, then merrily skips towards the threshold without a second thought.

He turns the lock. 

He walks away.

He doesn’t even think about looking back. 

 

—

 

Allura feels a little jittering in her arms. Ever so present. Ever so lightly.

She pays no heed.

 

—

 

Lance has never felt this _free_ before! Ugh, but he guess he has Rolo to thank by proxy.

No, no. No he doesn’t. He’s not thanking anyone- he’s not giving that loser a second thought. Rolo’s the reason his life’s a mess in the first damn place. 

Lance is more than content to stay fancy free on his merry little drive, excuse you very much. He’s barely got more than the shirt on his back and the crackling of the radio to keep him company. _He’ll use it to drown the sounds of his inhibitions._

When he hits the turnpike, it’s only open road from there. 

He guesses all he needed to get his More was a little push.

When he rolls the window down to let the whipping air tussle his hair, it’s all an enamored embrace to the welcoming of something grand. It feels _right._

The weather feels perfect.

It’s everything he’s wanted.

It feels like fate.

It smells like…

What is that, vanilla?

 

—

 

Allura has to sniff a bit to be sure. She got hints of vanilla, (she hates herself a little for even using that phrasing.) She got some maybe… Oh, she doesn’t know. She’s always been bad at this sort of thing. She can just read the label.

Vanilla with… frosted plum? Is that- is that an actual thing? Allura shrugs. It is now. 

She holds the bottle up to her nose to get another good whiff just to know what the heck “frosted plums” are supposed to smell like when-

 

—

 

_Good GOD-_

Lance feels that right up in his _sinuses-_

Oh damn.

 

_—_

 

Way to close!! Holy _cow_ that was way to close! She’s waving the scent away but it’s just not doing any good!

“ _Augh-“_

Allura looks before her.

“ **Watch out** _!”_

 

_—_

 

_Augh._

“ _Watch out!_ ”

“WHOA!”

Lance swerves, and blocks out any other noise. He pants to himself. He looks at the cars around him.

Okay. He’s okay. 

But wait.

Did Lance hear something?

 

—

 

Allura gasps.

She could very distinctly hear someone or some _thing_ yelling right in her ear. She’d bet her dying breath.

But her nose is still clogged up and that sales clerc is giving her odd looks so forgive her if she doesn’t have all her wits about her.

She can already feel the impending headache, but not before she asks:

“What?”

 

—

 

_“What?_

_There it is!!_ There’s that voice! That strange, clear, feminine (?), and not entirely unattractive voice again! What is going on with Lance?

“What is happening.”

 

—

 

The woman is flummoxed. “ _What is happening-“_ she could ask the same thing!

She snuffs out, “What are you? What is this what-“

 

—

 

The voice is asking too much. It’s too much. 

He’s trying to drive, he’s on the road, it’s a bit busy it’s _too much-_

“Oh my God am I going crazy.”

 

—

 

Allura is gathering too many looks. By the pair she can _feel_ harsh eyes raking up and down her back. Some amused, most disgusted by her hysteric mumbling.

She doesn’t know how she’s going to make it out of this one.

The voice is getting louder! It can’t be _her_ because she’s not the one thinking those words! Besides, the voice in her head wouldn’t be so… masculine sounding, would it?

Impossible.

“What is _happening._ ”

For everyone’s sake, she sets down the offending perfume bottle with a trembling hand. She walks to the nearest and darkest hallway with even shakier legs. 

It’s just barely enough when she hears the reply-

 

—

 

“Have I finally cracked?” Lance laughs to himself behind the wheel. “Is this my end? Have I already met it and my driving is actually me ascending to Heaven’s doors?”

He doesn’t expect the frantic overlapping muttering.

 

—

 

“Stop it, stop it, stop it, _stop it, stop it, stop it, just_ -“

 

—

 

“Hey, shut up!”

Wow, Lance has had about enough of that. Between the driving and his random headache and this voice, it’s all… Yikes. It’s just too much.

He thinks a good idea would probably be to pull over and sort all this BS out. 

That’s a good start.

He draws in steadying breaths before he breaks the silence of his Inner Voice and himself. He begins.

“Are you… Are you me?”

 

—

 

Allura is too sunned and disbelieving to hesitate. From her dark corner in the Macy’s hallway she  crouches. She listens. She breathes.

“No. No I can’t be you because I’m me.”

 

—

 

Lance will be _damned_.

“Well than friend,” he runs a hand through his hair. “Who are you?”

The reply is a little slower this time. The feminine voice more apprehensively replies, “ _My name is Allura.”_

Ohh. He likes this arrangement already. Before he can follow too many rabbit holes though, she asks in turn:

“ _Who are you?_ ”

Her voice is a harsh whisper. She must be somewhere private. She must not want to be found out. …Found out. _Oh, yeah_. 

Lance pulls his phone from the car just to save face. Or. What little of it he still can. He starts “talking on the phone” with this Allura character while on the shoulder of the bustling turnpike.

“My name is Lance. But you can call me? Any time.”

A few seconds and…

“ _Uugh.”_

Lance didn’t even need to hear this lady’s voice to expect her responding groan. 

And- there seem to be a lot of seconds we’re going to need to wait, because _wait just a second-_

“Oh my God.” Lance is having a revelation. A straight epiphany if he does say so himself. “Oh my God, I’m not talking to a voice in my head. You’re a real person. I can hear your voice- _why can I hear your voice?”_

 

_—_

 

Allura’s been asking herself that for the past 10 minutes! This Lance person is going to have to take a number and join the club.

Not only can she hear Lance’s huffing breath right in the center of her cranium, but she can see all of the outgoing traffic that speeds past his eyes. She can see the long stretch of road before her. She can see the hint of a car’s outline next to her.

They’re all before and next to _him._ To Lance. 

“Why can I see what you see?”

It’s enough to make  Lance jolt around himself, making her dizzy with the frantic intake of scenery. 

He stutters, “ _What, uh. Wh- What do you see?_ ”

It’s like there’s two films of vision in Allura’s eyes. There’s her vision; the one she knows is tangible and present. Then there’s Lance’s: behind a crystallized kaleidoscope filters his vision that is untouchable. Unreachable. She tunes her eyes to look farther out than herself.

“There’s a car to your right. It’s uh, it’s blue-“ she faintly gasps to herself, still catching her breath. “You’re on an interstate or a highway? There’s… That is quite a bit of green.” 

_Faint laughter._ Lance chuckles kindly.

Oh. That is. Not an unpleasant sound.

Allura can _feel_ the- “Quite muggy where you are too, it seems.” The humidity is weighing her down, oppressing her air. “Oh, that is _abysmal_.”

_A long-winded raspberry. “You got that right. I’m thinking a rain is about to come on any second now_.”

Allura loosens her muscles just a bit. She unlatches her arms from around her knees just a touch. She continues looking into the waves of Lance’s vision. Tilting her head up, raising her voice, she notes Lance’s clear blue skies.

“Rain? But there aren’t any clouds."

“ _Any second now_ ,” he drawls.

Hm. Well that’s all fine and such but- “Lance? What am I looking at?”

He lets out a sort of raspberry-groan- _hmm_ kind of noise before replying. _“From what I’ve gathered, you’ve been looking at the black gap between your knees since before our conversatio_ n.”

Allura is _positive_ that he can feel that heart clench of guilt from where he’s standing. “Ah. Yes. Many apologies.”

“ _Hey, hey hey_ ,” she can envision his shaking head. “ _No apologies needed. How are you feeling, are you alright?_ ”

Alright.

Is she feeling alright?

She doesn’t even know if she’s allowed to let herself think of how she’s feeling. Within a matter of minutes, she’s given herself a toxin-induced headache, made Lance nearly swerve off the road, and found out she has a psychic bond with said car-swerver. 

_A psychic bond?_ There’s no way she could possibly be alright.

She _will_ be okay, though.   
“Yes. Yes, Lance. I’m fine.”

 

 

—

 

Lance isn’t fully convinced. Actually, he’s not convinced at all that this Allura lady’s “alright” but he’s not going to push the issue. Instead, he lets them both get off of tenderly loaded questions entirely.

“Hey. Where um… Where are you?”

His talking friend pauses. “ _Where am I? I’m in a hallway at the mall trying to avoid any more prying eyes than humanely possible.”_

He laughs. “No, I mean.” He waves his hand. “ _Where_ are you? Like, in the world.”

She takes a moment. “ _Malibu, California_.”

“ _Mali- fu-“_ Lance irately combs his hands over his head, nearly dropping his phone in the process. “That’s literally on the other side of the country!”

“ _Well then, where are you?”_

“Freaking, Orlando Florida. Or at least I _was_.”

“ _That seems like a story there.”_

Doesn't he know it. Lance bypasses that comment completely in order to prioritize his little investigation. His head snaps up when he gets his next question. 

“Allura. What day is it for you?”

“ _What day? The- the uh…_ ” she probably checks her phone. (Still rattled. Still confused. So ambivalent, so, _so_ lost.) “The 11th?”

“Yeah! Yeah, okay that’s the date.” Lance rubs his chin. “Wait. Check your phone again. What time is it for you?”

Into Allura’s vision-film, he checks her time against his.

No way.

No _way._

He whips his phone out to show her the discrepancies. “Allura. _Allura-“_ (he knows he’s abusing her name but he can’t help _liking_ so much the way it rolls off his tongue-) “I… I’m 3 hours in the future! I’ve gotta be a time traveller or something!”

She’s quick to cut him to the chase. “ _No, Lance. No. Remember, I’m in California_.”

“Hm?”

“ _Different timezone._ ” She says plainly.

Oh. 

“Oh, girl I knew that. Was just making sure you were paying attention. Make sure you’re still all here.”

He likes her little, shy laugh too. “ _Of course. How good of you."_

“Yeah." Lance nods. _You dummy, she can only see what you see, not see_ you.

A moment.

Pure silence.

A little _hmmm._

A- _ha_! Lance’s final question!

“Do you- can we read each other’s thoughts? Can you hear what I’m _thinking_?”

“ _Oh! Good question!_ ” From Allura’s vision, he can see her rising back to her feet. He doesn’t know why it feels as relieving as it does. “ _I don’t think I can. Do you want to try?”_

“Hell yeah I want to give it a try!”

“ _Very well then,_ ” the woman's smile bleeds through. “ _Okay. Okay. Would you like me to think of something-"_

“And I’ll guess. Yeah, Yeah.” He nods again. Again. Dummy. “Go ahead.”

Lance's second vision goes black, so that must mean she closed her eyes in concentration. Radio silence this time. He's not hearing tendrils or remnants of her own voice, so he’s going to go ahead and call that a bust.

“I’m not getting anything.” He pouts.

“ _I was thinking about the many pounds of mashed potatoes I’ m going to eat after this._ ” She says deprecatingly. Why? Are mashed potatoes suddenly the new biggest sin? Damn, let the woman eat what she wants.

Now.

Hold on yet just _another second-_

“Did you say _mashed potatoes?_ ”

“ _Yes, I did? Is there something particularly important about them?_ ”

“No, no, no. I mean. Actually, _yeah_ , there is. I’ve been wanting a whole vat of them ever since I hit the road.”

“ _Really? How interesting that is. That seems a bit strange, though.”_

“What’s that.”

Allura clarifies. “ _I guess the conscious deliberate thought doesn’t pass through, but the sensation of underlying feeling. Does that make sense?_ ”

Oh that makes total sense to Lance. (For the lady’s decency, since she seems like one of those fancy types, he refrains from making passes of his quickly swelling _underlying feelings._ )

“Feelings. Not thinkings. Got it.” Nods. _Again._ “Well shoot, why don’t we-“

Silence.

“…Allura?”

This is different. This is not the charged but companionable silence like the first time. This is not the electric silence like when Allura was concentrating. This is… this is sharp. She- did she _cut him off?_

Lance can’t hear a thing.

Total silence.

What gives!

 

—

 

“Ma’am. Hello, ma’am? Excuse me miss-“

With everything that’s happened within the past few minutes, it would be understandable that Allura is having trouble discerning the real from the… Lance. Lance’s real. Her real and Lance’s real.

In Allura’s real, the same narrow-eyed salesgirl from the perfume counters holds out her hand. 

She tries for Allura’s attention one more time. “Ma’am?”

This time, she snaps her gaze up from the floor right to the woman’s eyes. “Yes? Yes, I’m sorry to cause such a-“

The girl cuts her off. “Your bag. You left it on the counter.”

“O-oh.” Well that was nice of her. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Allura doesn’t know if she’s trying for consoling or impassive, but when she says “can I help you with anything else?” Allura is confused above all things. 

“I don’t think so,” she says with a tepid, wavering smile. “Thank you so much, I really appreciate it.”

But she doesn’t even get out her entire sentence before the salesgirl is walking away. Ah. So perhaps she was trying for neither consoling or impassive, but obligatory. Allura doesn’t blame her.

She peers into her purse to make sure everything is as it should be when a prodding starts to press against her head.

Is that-

“ _Allura, you alright?_ ”

Oh! Back again so soon! 

“Yes, yes I’m doing alright. More alright than before.” She grimaces. “The saleslady came to give my purse back to me, so I had to… disconnect us. For a little bit.”

“ _Disconnect. Huh. Wait, how? How did you do that?”_

Another beautiful question by Lance. How indeed _did_ she do that. “I don’t know how to explain it. I suppose it's like… I could see my reality, yes? And I could see yours through a different filter. It’s like a lens. I focused my lens closer to my reality and unplugged my hearing from yours. It obviously affected you, too. Is that… good grief, am I making _any_ sense?”

“ _Perfect sense, Allura.”_  

There’s something a little heavier that Lance carries in his voice when he says it, but she can't parse it out because Lance. And his timing.

“ _So uh, I think I should be getting on the road again pretty soon here.”_

Very right he is. “I should think about going home before even more people start staring at me.”

“ _Yeah, yeah_ ” he resigns. _“Do you want to maybe… I don’t know. Should we talk about this more? I think this needs a little more talking about._ ”

“Yes!” _Allura. Try to sound a little more eager, why don’t you?_ “I mean, yes. Yes. We should absolutely talk about this further.”

“ _Tonight, then?”_

“Tonight I can be amenable.”

“ _Nice. I like it. Uh. When should I look at getting off the road. I don’t know, I’m kind of driving wherever the wind is taking me right now, but._ ” He tries to figure in their ridiculous time difference and how much ground he can realistically cover before he starts driving like a drunk. “ _I’ll try to find the least rat-infested motel I can and hunker in so we can talk at say… 10? 7 for you? What do we think?_ ”

“I think that sounds great.”

It really does.

“ _Great. Great, great this is going to be great.”_ Lance is wringing his hands. Hm. “ _And you know, if we find out it doesn’t work again or if you don’t wanna_ ” he waves a finger to and away from himself, “ _do this again, well. It was very nice to meet you my mysterious talking partner.”_

“Likewise, Lance.” 

They nod at each other, both not seeing the other but feeling it.

Allura feels… she doesn’t know. 

Nonsense. She absolutely knows what she’s feeling. She just doesn’t want to give it a name.

(It’s “invigoration”, for those curious. _Newness, thy name is Lance._ )

Allura hitches her purse up over her shoulder. She tries and fails terribly in wiping the arbitrary smile from her face as she walks out of the mall. She can’t even think of her tattered pride or her negligent dignity when they pay such little importance to her now.

She’s got a talk to be tuned in for.

 

—

 

Lance doesn’t bother pretending to dial off his phone. He gave up that ghost a long while ago. He walks back over to the driver’s side, slips himself through the door, and simply _sits._

That all just happened. Didn’t it?

It sure did. He better believe it.

He feels all the more _alive_ about it. 

The more he drives, the wider his smile he gets. (Cause the longer he drives, the closer to his and Allura’s conversation he gets.)

He doesn’t speed 20 over the limit like he sometimes (always) does. He takes as many of the backroads as he possibly can. He stops at every little off-track antique shop he can. He dishes his cash at hole-in-the-wall ice creameries, open flea markets. Radom, homey eatings. His Canon is a permanent fixture to his neck. 

He solidifies all these little memories that don’t mean much by themselves one by one. His photos are his quantifiers. When he looks back on them though, he has this… dare he say it. _Feeling_ \- that they’re all going to make a grand collage in a new season coming to his life.

He’s got that feeling, he’s got his camera, and he has to capture it all.

His most worrying feeling is the one that keeps burning at the root of his chest, singeing and wrapping itself around each of his ribs. It’s looming over his head, chanting soundlessly in his ear- this worry about Allura.

That’s not it exactly, though. He’s not worried about her. He's worried about himself. 

_I’m worried that with every photo I take, I only want to see her in every single one._

Loud pipes save lives though, right? He gets back in the car and revs the noisome, meddlesome _worries_ away.

He drives, and his fingers are itching.

He drives, and the wind is whistling.

He drives, and he smiles.

He’s got a talk to be tuned in for. 


	4. A Talk to Remember

To be perfectly honest, Allura hasn’t been paying much attention to making dinner at all. She’s been letting veggies sit. She’s been letting sauces boil. She’s been letting meat marinate too long.

It’s all she can do to stop the veggies from burning. The sauces from scalding. The meats from frying.

She is so terribly distracted. She doesn’t want to think as to why.

Somehow, miraculously, dinner makes itself to the plates. Onto the table. She doesn’t yet pour the wine. For that, she must wait until Lotor comes home.

The final napkin is set.

The front door opens.

Dinner is served.

Allura helps Lotor out of his coat.

“Hello, darling.” She pecks his cheek. “Welcome home.” She says, every evening like she always has.

“Thank you, ‘Lura.” (He’s back to “‘Lura”, so he must surely be in a better mood.) He stops her fretting hands, her fluttering adjustments. “Are you feeling more well than yesterday?”

_More well._

“Yes I am, dear. Would you like to sit down? Dinner’s ready,” she all but pushes him to a chair.

“And you’re not even going to ask me how my day was?” he chuckles. “My, we are hasty today.”

“Oh.” The woman stops her soft encouraging. Her gentle leading. “Oh no. No, I-“

Lotor holds a finger against her lips. “I jest.” Directs them closer to the table. “Let’s eat, shall we?”

This time when Allura nods, she is fully assured someone can actually see her doing it. 

All through dinner though, she can’t help but watch every bite he takes. Lotor has always been a thoughtful, methodical eater. Always taking his time to savor all the flavors, swallow with precise portions. There is very little in the man's life that feels out of his control. He controls his schedules, his clients’ hysteria- his very _emotions_ \- how does he do it? 

He controls every. Bloody. Bite. He takes.

Of course, this normally would be no matter to Allura. No matter at all. _Normally_ , she would be more than content to let herself be lost in their suppertime silence. Normally, after their first glass of wine they start loosening their lips, and they recount their days to each other. Sometimes they forego the retelling and simply enjoy the evening together. 

_But that is not a normal night, Allura._

How very true. Because uncannily enough, neither is this.

Before her leg starts bouncing beneath the table, she stops it because she knows how much Lotor hates it. She stills her tapping fingers before the repetition has a chance to drive Lotor nuts. She doesn’t comb back her hair. She doesn’t fix at herself. 

All she does, is _wait._ In particular, she waits until after Lotor’s downed his second glass his wine. 

He notices. “‘Lura, dear.” _What_ does he notice? The woman isn’t sure. “You’ve hardly touched your glass.”

“No, no. Nothing’s wrong, love.” She pins on her sweetest smile. “It’s just… It’s-“ her eyes damn her. The bloody clock _damns_ her. It can’t be- “Seven already?”

Lotor much more lazily drifts his gaze to her same direction. “So it is. Why, is seven important? Are you worried about missing your bedtime?” His laugh is puffy. Smokey.

“No,” she laughs in turn. “No I- I just. It must have been a long day for you, so-“

“Ooh. I see. You’re worried about _my_ bedtime.” Ah, he’s so clever isn’t he. “Not to worry, ‘Lura. I’ll be in bed soon enough so that I can tuck us both in.”

Allura’s heart both jolts and sinks. How does one politely tell their lover that is everything they _don’t_ want?

“ _Mmm,”_ he hums around his last few gulps of wine. He lets them commiserate in their wordlessness for a moment. Allura is boring eyes into his head. The silence is only lifting. Only droning.

At last, Lotor finally breaks it, confessing “You know. I had this podcast I was thinking about listening to and I think it’s about to broadcast soon.”

“Okay,” Allura’s smile is _saccharine_. “That sounds fun for you.”

He smiles back, (much more tepidly) and walks himself to their room. The woman waits until his back is fully out of view… aaand… she is on the _move_. 

She slips out of her chair and into the study. Why is she feeling so _jittery?_ Her legs are fizzing with energy. Her arms are tingling with apprehension. Her face is _beaming_ with excitement.

She reaches into the veil to breach Lance’s vision. 

“Good evening.” Her voice is low.

The response is immediate.

_A gasp._ Lance must have been as effervescing as she is. _“Good evening, yourself.”_ His words fumble. “ _I. Wow. I didn’t expect to actually hear your voice again. I thought maybe all that ink was seeming into my bloodstream. Up to my brain.”_

“Ink?” 

“ _Well don’t sound too surprised, Miss._ ” Okay yes, Allura will admit. Maybe she intoned a little too much there. “ _I work at a tattoo parlor._ ”

That explains a few things. 

“ _Or. I did._ ”

That adds a few more questions. He must not be in the mood to delve into them because he quickly pipes up again. “ _Anyway. Maybe I’ll tell you all about that if you still think I’m a good talking buddy after all this”_ A snap. _“Speaking of which! I’ve been rackin’ my brain_ all day _trying to think of how this could be happening, you know? Cause this is…_ ” jostle, jostle, jostle. “ _This is crazy._ ”

“With that I don’t disagree.” She rubs her arms. “So.”

“… _So?_ ”

“Have you… come up with anything?”

Another snap. “ _I did think of one thing._ ”

She perks up. “Really? What did you think of?”

“ _Are you perhaps,”_ the smooth after-sensations of Lance’s fingers stroke against her chin. “ _Satan, maybe?_ ”

Allura about _dies._ “ _Satan!_ Good grief, I hope not!”

“ _An angel, then_?” Lance’s voice drops to something smoother.

“Why Lance, flattery will get you everywhere.” Her laughter has no choice but to bubble up and live on.

Not a snap, but a _gasp._ “ _Don’t tell me. You’re an succubus?_ ” He holds a hand against his chest. “ _Are you out to take my innocence and eat my soul?”_

“I may be wrong, but I think with the kind of voice and speech you take, ‘innocence’ might be a difficult thing to find with you.”

If Allura though Lance was gasping before, how utterly wrong she realizes she was. “ _My integrity! My prospects! How can the lady think of me so low!”_ The man is laughing! How can Allura not join in? “ _Can’t deny it, though. Although… I don’t hear you denying immortal capabilities._ ”

“I’m sorry to disappoint! Only a mere mortal, here.”

_“You say that, but yet I still have doubts. With a voice like that you_ must _be from Heaven itself._ ”

She doesn’t know whether to snort, groan, or laugh at his terrible flirting. She ends up doing all three? Sort of? And really hoping he decides to move on.

“ _Shoot, Allura_.” Look at that! He does. Maybe he is a mind-reader after all. “ _Is this your place?_ ”

For whatever reason, she completely momentarily forgot Lance could see everything she does. She starts silently pacing around the study. “Yes it is! I’m in the study actually, but yes. This is… This is where I live.”

A _loong_ whistle. “ _Damn. That is_ nice.”

“You really like it?” Allura gives him a slow 360 of the room.

“ _Hell yeah, I like it. You have an eye for this interior design stuff. I just kind of… throw things. Places. Bad habit.”_

“That I understand.” She thinks back to her old apartment; never clean for more than 10 minutes if her life ever had anything to say about it. “But I’m not the one to praise for all the decoration. This was my boyfriend’s work.”

“ _Your boyfrie-_ “ Lance inhales. “ _Ah_.” He exhales. “ _That makes sense. Yeah, no that makes total sense. Totally. No wonder you were dodging my top-notch flirting left and right. You already have someone to do it with you already. Oh man, now I feel bad for all that. Sorry, ‘Lura.”_

‘Lura.

“ _Have you told him about…_ ” he waves his hand in front of him. _“Any of this? The little voice in your head?”_

She stops pacing. She tightens her arms around herself. “No. No I haven’t. I didn’t think it was right, I didn’t… No. I’m sorry, I just. I don’t know how he would take it.”

“ _No, no. Absolutely. I get that. I mean, it’s not like I actually have anyone to tell, but. I think it’s good to wait. You don’t want to dump something like this on someone. It’s a lot._ ”

“Yeah. I think it’ll be good to wait.”

She can sense his nod of resolution blending in with hers.

She realizes-

“Oh my goodness! I deeply apologize!”

“ _What, what. What’s up.”_

“You’ve seen my side, but I haven’t asked about yours!” She looks through his eyes and sees an open backpack. A closed camera case. There’s clothes everywhere! On the floor, on the bed, on a desk. This can’t possibly be his room, can it? “Is this your space, Lance?”

“ _O-oh.”_ He starts snatching up his lazily-strewn clothes. _“Yeah, sorry. I-_ “ he crams things back into that little tattered backpack of his. “ _I’m actually not at home. Right now._ ”

“Why’s that? Where are you?”

“ _I am actually,_ ” he drums his hands against his knee. “ _On a roadtrip right now._ ”

“A roadtrip! I miss doing those with my friends. They would make playlists for us to listen to on the drive away and back. I have so many photos from places I don’t even remember the names of. Those were always so much fun.”

_“I can imagine. But see the thing is, this roadtrip I’m taking is one-way._ ”

“One way. There is no drive back, then. I trust more stories there?”

“ _You could say that,_ ” Lance snickers.

“Where is your illustrious destination?”

_“Pfft. Even if it were ‘illustrious’, I couldn’t tell you. I don’t know where it is._ ”

“I only noticed one backpack with you in that room with you. Your hotel looks-“

“ _Like a crap-hole? You wouldn’t be wrong_.”

“I was going to say thread-bare!” says Allura, scandalized. "Lacking the essence of home. I’m guessing you picked up your stakes and just… drove. Yes?”

“ _That uh… that would also not be. Wrong._ ”

“Huh.” She stops. "You just. _Went._ ”

“ _Yeah, yeah, I_.” Lance airily laughs. “ _That’s what I did.”_

“You dropped everything. I admire that. The ability to just go. Have you always been this spontaneous?”

“ _For you, baby? You bet I could be._ ” Allura feels his flinch in her shoulder. _“Shi- sorry! So sorry! Right. Boyfriend. Yes. No flirting. Not allowed. Chilling._ ”

She simply smiles. “It’s quite alright, Lance.”

Through their link, she can feel him smiling too. It’s nice. It’s intimate, and empowering; she gets to know and share an emotion no one else is privy to. And she can’t even see him. It’s empowering, mystical, and _immense_.

She is scarce to think she can carry it all. It’s immense and it’s scary, and it’s a lot. It’s a lot to think about, so Allura just… won’t. She’s not going to let herself think about it. Instead, she thinks of- _good grief last night._

“Actually! Actually, I had a question! I can’t believe I almost forgot, I’ve been meaning to ask.” The woman shakes out her shoulders. Ghosts her fingers over her cheek. “Knowing what I know now, I got to thinking about last night. Were you- I apologize if it’s uncouth of me to ask- hit? On your face? By a particularly _incensed_ hand?”

Lance about flips out. “ _Yes! Yes I did! Nyma just slapped me-“_

“With her hand and all her rings! I know! I was actually walking around this art exhibit when it happened!”

Allura gets so caught up in reliving the night with Lance that she forgets herself. She forgets her volume. 

She forgets Lotor’s podcast only a few rooms over.

“What is that…” he turns down the radio volume. _There’s laughter coming from the study._ Allura’s voice rings out even louder. Hmm.

Lotor investigates.

From the study, Allura still recounts last night’s commiserative experience when- 

_footsteps._

Lotor opens the door.

_Shoot! Shoot! Quick thinking, quick quick-_ Allura picks up the landline phone right when Lotor steps over the threshold. She is also quick to change her tone.

“I know, I know darling. Listen to me there is nothing I would love to do more-" and pretends to finally notice her man standing in the door. She makes assorted pointing, waving gestures and exaggerates her voice. “I _know_ ,” then holds the phone to her chest.

Lance bites his lips and tongue from the other side.

Finally the woman addresses her increasingly perplexed boyfriend at the door. “It’s Mrs. Arus,” she whispers. “We’re talking about about-“ she holds up a finger. Pretends to answer “Mrs. Arus’” pressing call. “Yes! I said I would _try_.”

It’s enough to satiate Lotor. It’s enough to get him back out the door.

“ _Pffft. Classic._ ”

“Why thank you _Mrs. Arus._ ” When Allura deems it safe again, she clicks the phone back down on the receiver. 

“ _That your boyfriend_?”

“My boyfriend? Yes, yes that was Lotor.”

“ _Lotor_.” Lance swishes the name over and under his tongue. “ _What does he do_?”

“He’s an attorney.”

Lance whistles.

“Yes, yes I know. His father owns a firm in the city. They’re quite successful.”

“ _Wow_. _A professional man._ ” There’s something about his tone the lady doesn’t like. Maybe his little chuckle was trying too hard. Or it was the way his voice quickly tapered.

“Yeah.” She’s feeling her voice and energy drain, too. “I… I hate to cut the conversation short, but I think I should probably go now.”

“ _That’d probably be smart, for sure_.” Now the taper is unmistakable. “ _Here’s a thought- would you want to… I don’t know. Wanna chat tomorrow? Would that-“_

“That should be great!” More than great if Allura’s being honest with herself. “I need to run a few errands throughout the day, though.”

“ _Great_ , _great_.”

“So long as you’re not planning to be the recipient of another back hand, we’re good to go.”

“ _Hey!_ ” Lance holds a hand to his chest. “ _Nyma only ‘hit’ me_ ,” (Allura can see his quotation marks,) _“because she couldn’t keep her hands off me. That’s what's up._ ”

“Oooh, I see.”

“ _Good, I’m glad you finally see it for what it was._ ”

“Miss Nyma must show her affection in interesting ways.”

(Oh that was too easily, Allura. She left herself wide open. Lance sidesteps that low-hanging fruit, laughing to dispel his own awkward and inappropriate derailing.) 

“ _Nah, I’m just playing. No, I. I think the worst I ever got was. Geez. It must have been third grade.”_ He stops. He breathes. He _gasps._ “Allura” he asks sharply.

“What's wrong?”

“ _What’s the most embarrassing story you have? Or like, top 3_.”

“Embarrassing stories?” She twirls her hair. “I think it’s a bit early for that…” More diffusive laughter.

“ _Here, I’ll cut to the chase. Does one of them include you at the monkey bars?_ ”

“The money bars. I guess you could say so?” Allura _jolts_. “When I was a little girl, I took it upon myself to climb into the wide-set bars. I couldn’t get down.”

“ _Oh my GOD_!” Lance paces. Paces. “ _I don’t want to think how long I was knocked out for after that!_ ”

She rubs at her neck. “My nerves are still sensitive from that fall.” Her hand stops. “Lance. That must have been… at least 20 years ago.”

“ _Oh my God._ ”

“Oh my God” is right.

For the rest of the night, all she can do is breathe. She’s always been a wonderful multitasker, which is why this one thought pervading all the rest of her actions is so jarring to her. Have they really been connected since so long ago? Did Lance really feel that childhood accident so acutely? 

She watches Lotor get ready for bed in the bathroom, but turns her back to him when he climbs in. Her expression would give everything away. She can’t possibly look at his face now. 

Not now.

Not when she knows that on the other side of the country, Lance is having fitful sleep himself.

It is an easy night for neither.

Allura is scarce to count the hours between them.

 

—

 

Lance has no choice but to feel the connection chiseling away at his sleep. For hours, hours he tosses and turns, pushing the kaleidoscope feeling to the forefront of his head. He forces the thrum of their bond through his arms. He pretends he can still feel the faint scratches of her cotton sweater against his arms. Her long, cascading hair over his shoulders. 

He relents again. He’s growing nervous quick in how much he’s already willing to concede for Allura, but it’s a lot. She's a lot. He’s already giving her his sight and sensation. What’s time and dreams added to the mix?

He’s not going to lie to himself and say he has no choice but to think of their conversation over and over again. He's just going to… turn his head away. He _has_ the choice on what he thinks about, but he's not going to take it. Not when everything he’s been given to think about is  _a lot._

Allura is a lot. Lance is glad of it.

Preoccupying thoughts of the woman lets Lance indulge in a new kind of escapism. Thinking on this mysticism and his curiosity lets him dispel the nagging calls he has from back home. The ones telling him to “come back” and “think of his responsibilities” and “just turn the damn car around, already.” He’s like, so over that noise.

He wants to hear Allura’s voice now. What would be really great if she could hear her without _Lodoor_ coming in and cutting their call short. Rude.

That guy’s a lawyer, right? His dad owns the firm. Must have a lot of money. The rest of his- _and Allura’s-_ apartment must be real nice. 

_I bet he takes care of her real well._

But why is that even close to a concern of Lance’s? Allura’s happily in love and the only thing Lance has to be jealous of is Lotor’s abundance of money over Lance’s lack. That's it.

He could take care of a woman like Allura. 

_Wha- Pshh- Cuh-, anyone could if they had money like Lotor_. _You’re being ridiculous._

Suddenly in the back of his mind, Lance gets the diaphanous pressure of Allura trying to come in.

“ _Good morning_ ,” she sleepily greets.

Vindictively, Lance wonders if Lotor gets to hear a voice so soft and poised like he is. _You moron,_ comes the immediate chiding. _He gets to hear it_ every morning. _Shut up._

“Mornin’”.

“ _How... how did you sleep_?”

_Terrible since you weren't there,_ is the far-reaching reply. “Eh, you know. I’ve had better nights.” Is the respectable response.

“ _I’m sorry to hear that Lance. I can imagine you have a lot on your mind after our conversation. I know I do._ ”

“I think the biggest question I keep asking myself is ‘how’”.

“ _Likewise._ ” Allura wraps something tight around her waist before she asks, “ _Are you free now to talk more about... this? Ever since I realized just how impactful my little_ tumble _was back as a child, I can’t help but agonize how confused and in pain you must have been_.”

“Confused? Hella. In pain?” _Also hella._ “Well, we both lived so I think that’s saying something.”

“ _Oh it must say_ something _. What exactly that says I haven’t the faintest idea._ ” Allura giggles. “ _You know, after I fell out of those monkey bars, my teacher wouldn’t let me climb up any for months. Not that I had any strong proclivities to_.”

“No, yeah. I don't blame you. I wouldn’t want to either.”

A sharp inhale. " _Middle school! My knees and elbows must have been perpetually scraped for at least a year! Was that you? What was that?_ ”

Oooh, boy. Lance is somehow less inclined to revisit those memories. “You have the rare privilege of being front seat to Lance’s adventures in skateboarding.”

“ _Skateboarding?_ ”

“Yeah, it was. It was… a time. I- I was about to say ‘oh got you back for the monkey bars’ until I realized how awful that was to say so. Yeah. I guess it took me a while for me to find my true calling to bikes.”

The woman kindly laughs. No malice. “ _I appreciate your restraint.”_ (It’s all too easy for Lance to envision her cheeky, sticking her tongue out at him.) “ _It’s funny you mention bikes, though. I think all of my best memories happened while I was riding one. Touring around DC. Riding with my father."_

“Wish I could say I had that.” Lance carries their conversation while he rustles his hair. Puts on a decent-ish shirt. Brushes his teeth. “I was scared of bikes for years. To be honest, I still kind of am. That’s why I bus everywhere. Or walk.”

“ _Ahh. That I understand. In an empirical sense; ever since I was old enough to take the training wheels off, I couldn’t possibly find hours enough in the day to ride._ ”

Lance carries their conversation while he gets ready, and for hours, hours more. It takes a subtle and discernible turn. Allura seems to be the kind of person to hide behind timidity. Professionalism. After each story, every shared experience, she comes more and more out of her shell. He wants to carry this conversation until he can see her in her entirety.

He carries the conversation after he makes himself pretty. They keep chatting over continental breakfast. They talk, chatter and laugh away the whole morning through. 

_It’s like I'm seeing my life through an outside lens._

“Outside lens”? Inaccurate. He’s seeing his life through another pair of eyes.

He tries to bring himself closer to Allura, too. He brings himself out of his insecurities still unspoken with times he knows she’s felt. He lets himself be free to embarrass himself in front of her. And yet? She takes it all in stride. Not once does her laughter turn malevolent. Not for a second does he think that she considers him any lesser.

It’s freeing.

More liberating than his clutch behind the wheel. 

It’s _easy_. Easier than using his own to legs to run away from or drown out his hoping. It’s easier than letting go of all the invisible ties keeping him tethered to Orlando. It’s easier than laying his head down to sleep and dreaming of all the things that could have been.

It’s so easy to talk to her. 

Lance thinks that ease is what puts him on edge the most.

“Hey!” he snaps. “I gotta question.”

“ _Yes?_  

“I think it was… over some summer. I must have been just out of high school. During an _entire_ July, I was exhausted. I couldn’t be bothered to do diddly or squat. What on earth was that about?”

_“Ooh… I don’t. I don't think you really want to know about that._ ” Her voice is convoluted. Muddy. 

“What! No, you _have_ to tell me! It was a whole month, Allura! It can’t be all that bad.” Wait. “It’s me you’re talking to. Any ‘embarrassing’ story you could possibly have can’t hold a candle next to mine. I think you're safe.” That’s better.

“ _High school… July._ ” She stops puttering around in her kitchen. “ _I remember. That was the summer I,_ ” she laughs at her own cringe. (It’s almost a welcome change.) She resumes her puttering. “ _I got it into my head that I was going to be a traveling performer._ ”

“Traveling performer?! Allura, that's awesome! What were you going to do, what was your act?”

“ _When I tell you, it’s going to seem much less ‘awesome’. I had this idea that I was going to… I was going to train my mice._ ” Her voice gets smaller with every word. “ _I was going to train them to do tricks. Put them in little costumes. It was very involved._ ”

“Sounds like.”

“ _My father was completely on board. He told me ‘go for it, sweetie!’ so I did. I taught them tricks, sewed them costumes and somehow managed to wrangle them on their little bodies. The fun, frivolous part was easy and done. I then went out to get us scouted.”_

“Scouted. Like… auditioned?” Lance leans forward on his knees with growing interest.

“ _Yes. Yes, exactly. My goodness, I can’t tell you how hard I networked. How much initiative I took trying to make our act come to fruition._ ”

“That’s _really cool_ , Allura.” He holds his hands out to either side of his head. His eyes are wide and rapt. “Then what happened?”

“ _Nothing. Nothing happened.”_ Her puttering pauses once again. “ _Actually, that’s not entirely true. ‘Nothing’ didn't happen, but. I tried so hard. Lance, I talked to agent after agent and begged them to see my mice and I. I really thought I had something good going. I was so foolish. I know rejection is inevitable in the performing arts world, but. The ridicule was so acute. I realized quickly the little act of mine wasn’t even worth pursuing. I was devastated. I was so humiliated. I humiliated_ myself _, but then I turned my frustrations on my father. He was the one who encouraged me to follow that dream in the first place._

“ _It wasn’t his fault, not even close. It wasn't fair of me to do so. After it all blew over and my shame healed, I finally understood that my father just wanted to see_ a _dream of mine come true. He didn’t care what it was, he just wanted me to pursue passion. For that ideology I’m thankful, but knowing my silly little funk was also shared with you… I guess it's pouring salt on an old wound_.”

“Oh, Allura.” Lance shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed. Really.”

“ _It lasted for much longer than one month, though! And knowing you were there to feel the worst of it_?”

“That’s fine! It’s not embarrassing at all! Actually, I’m really impressed.”

“ _Impressed_?” She sounds way too confused for his comfort. “ _I’ve never heard anyone be ‘impressed’ by that escapade of mine_.”

“That's cause they’re not looking at it the right way” he says fiercely. “To be able to not only have the idea, but go out and make it happen? That’s amazing! I know it didn’t work out and that’s _BS_ it didn’t- those agents and casters didn’t know what they missed- but you put your all into it. Not a lot of people have that kind of ambition with things even other people encourage them to do. Your only support was your dad. Wow. That’s _amazing_.”

“ _Stop_.” She’s wringing her hands again. Fiddling with her sleeves. “ _I’m going to blush._ ”

And _dammit. Allura. Again. With the wide open, low-hanging fruit._

“I’m glad to finally know another part of the trademark Unexplainable Mood. Now it’s all explained through you.” His epiphany isn’t gobsmacking him as much as he though it would. “Every weird or off mood was _you_. Huh.”

“ _Would you care to learn some more embarrassing things about me?_ ”

“Hell yeah, of course I would.” 

Smarmy sod is rubbing his hands together. 

Allura more hesitantly confesses, “ _I explained you away as ill-timed PMS_.”

“P- PMS?” Lance punches a laugh from his gut. “Ha.” A stiff chuckle. “ _Ha ha._ ” A body-wracking laughter; he is _gone._ “ _Ah HA_! You thought I was-“

“ _It’s the only thing I could reasonably justify!_ ”

“I don’t blame you,” he manages to wrench out with dwindling, ugly guffawing.  “I easily see how one could mix us up.”

“ _Lance_ ,” she half-heartedly scolds.

“You’re right, you’re right.” He sobers a moment. Lets his laughter dwindle. “You know, you’ve been mentioning your dad a lot.” That’s within their Learning Each Others’ boundaries, right?

“ _So I have_.”

He takes after Allura, pacing around his rinky hotel room. “He must mean a lot to you. What was he like?”

She lets out a languid hum. “ _Giving. So generous. I never knew my father to have many enemies, if any at all. He was so kind. Kind to a fault. Literally. He always made it a point to see the best in people, even if they made it difficult on themselves. My father was kind, but kindness is easy to take advantage of. After my mother died, it was like everyday he had less to give."_

“I’m so sorry.”

“ _Please, don’t be. There was always still love in my home, and he made it a point to remind me to share it with everyone I met in turn.”_

_It shows._

_“Heh, you know Lance? It was so strange at the time, unexplainable. Now after knowing everything I do about this, it's so clear. Even after my mother died, I felt like someone was there with me. Encouraging me. I was never truly alone in my anguish. It felt supernatural.”_

“I think I know what you mean.” 

Seriously? Lance can cut the crap. He knows exactly what she means.

“ _Have you ever experienced that?”_

“A very good question. Damn. You are just running me over with them. How about this- why don’t you tell me?”

“ _If you’ve ever felt someone was with you._ ” She stops to consider. “ _Was it… your first night in prison?_ ”

Ah.

“Yeah,” awkward laugh, awkward laugh. “Yeah that was. Probably not a good night for either of us.”

The lady cuts right to the quick. “ _May I ask what happened?_ ”

“I- my.” He’s never had to explain himself before. He’s never felt like he’s had to apologize for this side of himself before. “I guess I’ve always fallen in with a bad crowd.” He’s never felt so ashamed of himself before. “I was a dumb ass. I can wheel and deal all day long. In fact, my ma said I could probably sell a drowning man water. I was always great with that side of things but that night I wasn’t so light on my feet.”

“ _What happened_?”

“I was caught dealing.”

“ _Oh, Lance._ ”

She doesn’t sound disgusted. She doesn't even sound mad. Not _disappointed_ , either. Maybe weary. For his sake.

“I got too cocky, probably. Sought too many buyers, overestimated myself. Whatever, whatever. My friends,” _“friends”_ , “were about that life. I tried it. Landed in jail. Wasn’t about that life.”

“ _It felt pretty scary._ ”

“It… yeah. It was. I don’t know if I could have gone through that alone.”

“ _It’s a good thing you didn’t have to, then.”_

Allura’s peace is infectious. Her gentle ambiance washes over him. 

It serves as a conductor for Lance’s next brilliant idea.

“Shoot, Allura!” he claps his hands. He does little high-knees, he’s so jittery.

She clasps her hands up high on her chest. “ _What? What, what is it?_ ” 

“I hope it’s not too early to ask,” sleazy eyebrow waggle, “but I. I. Go, go look in a mirror.”

Her hands tighten. The peace brittles. “ _What_.”

“I want to know what you look like!” Lance is drumming his hands on his thighs, tapping his arms he’s so _radioactive._ “I know the back of your hand. The ends of your hair, but that's it.”

“ _UM,_ ” poor Allura’s face is flushing.

“I’m a curious man!”

“ _Evidently_!” she stutters. “ _I- psh. Ehem, um-_ “ she putters. So much puttering today! “ _Why… why don’t_ you _do that_?” It’s a cheap cop-out and they both know it. Lance, however, still has the grace to dignify her with a response.

“Easy.” He flips his hair. “I asked first.”

“ _That’s hardly fair! I can't be the only one to do it!_ ”

Okay, okay. That’s fine. Lance has not only been making knees turn to jelly with his wheeling-dealing, but also his _compromise_. 

“You got it hun. But-“ he holds up a finger. “After you.”

“ _Ah_!” A scream, high and dainty. Just like Allura herself. “ _I haven’t even gotten dressed, yet! Lotor left and I made breakfast and then I talked with you! That’s it!_ ”

“Now whose fault is that,” he goads. 

“ _Lance_!"

Buzzing through them both is untamed excitement. Unbridled eagerness. It reaches down into their finger tips and lights every nerve in their toes. Allura is beside herself with thoughts of “impropriety!” and “she’s not even dressed!” Lance is letting himself creep ever so slowly to the bathroom with tidal-waving emotions. He is overcome with indescribable curiosity. He has to _know_. They have to know.

They have to come through.

Their hearts are thundering, cracking down in violet electricity. Pulse barely contained in their chest, smiles too wide- their faces are going to be sore after this.

Not even with her traveling, performing mice has Allura been so nervous. 

Not even before a condemning, condescending judge has Lance been so self-conscious. Too late, depressive thoughts worm and slither their way in. They wrap their scales around his tender heart, taking Lance away from his Eden.

They ask, _what if she looks nothing like how you’ve envisioned_? That’s fine; he can live with being wrong every once in a while. _What if she’s unattractive_? Wow, Lance. You want to be any more superficial. _What if_ she _doesn’t like what_ she _sees?_

That one cuts him down way more than he wants to admit. 

_Screw it._

He’s going to _stuff his face_ from the Tree of Knowledge. 

Allura’s shaking out her hands. She can’t stop the tremor in her shoulders. “ _I can't believe I’m doing this._ "

“You better believe it, sweetheart.”

A loooong exhale. She jitters. She frets. She pads over to her mirror.

“ _Okay_.” She opens her eyes. “ _Here I am_.”

She looks at herself for Lance, staring with her full waving hair and ending at the shifting soles of her feet.

It’s barely enough.

Lance wants to take in more.

Lance wants to look her down again. 

He is _enraptured._

Before in the mirror stands the most gorgeous commodity ever to grace Earth. Her hair is something Lance wants to lose his hands and face in. Her _body_ is- going to be saved for another time.

He would happily lose his day grazing his eyes over the dark stretches of her skin. The light effervescence of her eyes. 

From Lance’s kaleidoscope vision stands the kiss of divinity incarnate, clad only in a nightgown and robe. She is, irrefutably,

“ _Gorgeous._ ”

Oh. But she heard that. She _heard_ that, what the hell, dude!

Hastily she turns her back from the mirror, closing her eyes again for good measure. “ _Don’t embarrass me further in your flattery, Lance_.”

He could scream in frustration. He could throw his fist and crash the mirror he’s soon to stand before, himself. He could cry, being ripped from beauty so profound.

He could rage in how her response is _embarrass._ Not presumption. 

How does this woman not see it? How can she say “don’t embarrass me” over “why yes, thank you. I know.” She should know! She should _know_ , Lotor should be dousing, drowning and redundant in his praises to her. He should. 

Is he not?

“Go back! Why did you turn around, what’s wrong?”

“ _I told you Lance. I’m not even dressed.”_ Her voice is subaquatic. It’s doing its best just to float. It’s saving face.

“Aww, but I was having so fun being a pretty lady. How can you deny me such a radiant face? Man that reveal was so short, I think I’ve already forgotten what you look like.”

“ _You silly goose,_ ” she recommences the fidget. The shift. “ _I’ve held up my side of the bargain, I think it’s your turn for the ‘grand reveal’, yes?_ ” Her voice’s confidence is betrayed by the unease of her posture. 

“Ah. Yes. That I did promise.”

His face Lance did promise to share, but _damn_ is he considering going back on his word. It’s only a matter of seconds before Lance’s fears come to light. How is he supposed to hold a candle to a girl like that? There’s no way Allura can soliloquize a face like his. Don’t get him wrong, Lance is far from unattractive. He can be pretty at times.

But that's just it. At times. Allura’s beauty, captivation and enchantment are inherent. Genetic. Given. Lance has to work for his.

“Hold on, just let me,” he combs his hair. Pulls at his shirt. “Let me get ready.” Readjusts some of his piercings.

She’s so clean-cut. Allura is his uptown girl. 

_No. Not yours. Lotor’s._

She’s so clean-cut; who’s to say she isn’t going to be _frightened_ by what she sees in his mirror? 

Better to get this over with as quickly as he can. 

He moseys in front of the bathroom mirror, flicking on the harsh overhead fluorescents. Blinking his eyes in offense, he nods in resolution once the black spots fade. 

“Feast your eyes, Miss Allura.”

From her side, Lance can’t even hear her breathing. She is still in observing. Her gaze is focused. She will be undivided.

“Allura?”

“ _But you’re so striking, yourself._ ”

Stri- does she really mean that? Lance flicks his eyes away from his reflection.

“ _I only got to see your face! I want-_ “ she cuts herself off. 

Oops.

“You want?”

“ _Sorry. Sorry. I don’t know how to word-_ “

Oh. Poor woman, Lance can feel her burning face from the other side. “I see. You want the Full View, then?”

She sputters.

“Not a problem. All you had to do was ask.” Lance thinks he covers his nerves better than Allura had. It's only natural he has, though. After all, he’s had much more practice. In the same spirit of bravado he takes a step back. The reflection only goes down to around his thighs, but it’ll be have to be good enough for now.

The woman’s smile must be slipping out from her. It oozes over to Lance, and his worries ooze along with it.

She turns back around to face the mirror.

He looks back up to meet his own eyes; meeting hers through their connection.

All at once, Lance is _bulldozed_ with a feeling profound in its strength. Deafening in its obviousness. Blinding in its immensity. 

Lance is grateful. Lance is happy. He is at peace. He is at once _humbled._

Never before has he cared any less on how he’s looked. 

Fervent is the feeling that Allura will always meet him where he’s at. How he looks has never mattered any less. The rancid and thorny thicket of Lance’s insecurities are being uprooted. Their quality and quantity have never been further from him.

“ _It’s good to see you, Lance._ ”

She means it.

“Likewise.”

He feels like a little boy all over again.

Never has joy ever felt closer to him.


	5. a little exploration

Allura doesn't know how she managed without Lance's present company for so long. Yes he was always there, but now that he is both a name and a face, it's a puzzle in completion. A missing piece has found its way to her.

_Or maybe I should avoid verbiage of “belonging” when Lotor is so close to proposing._

She would feel wrong wording it any other way.

She avoids any other explorative thoughts of Lance starting right then. To assuage her ambivalent thoughts, Allura confronts her conflict head-on. She talks it out.

At the dining room table, she sees Lance's hyperfocus on the road past her own. She greets durning his morning drive,

“Good morning, Lance.”

Without startle or a hitch he replies, “m _orning yourself, your Highness_."

She snorts. “Your Highness? And what have I done to deserve such a lofty title.”

Lance keeps one hand on the steering wheel as he lifts the other to spread his fingers. “ _You're like, some kind of princess from far, far away. I see it.”_ He reaches out. “ _In another life or universe, you were a princess. You had a huge kingdom. I see it. Don’t doubt me, Allura._ ”

“I never said I did,” she smiles. 

“ _Good. Good. To what do I owe this auspicious morning? Anything in particular you reaching out for?_ ”

“Yes, actually.” She stops eating her tasteless breakfast. Taps her fingers on the solid wood tabletop. “There is something I wanted to share. Would you be interested in learning how Lotor and I met?”

No hesitation he answers, “ _Damn girl, I sure would. Tell me all about your loverboy, apple of your eye. There's nothing I love more than a good love story. Anyone who knows me will tell you the same. Lay it on me. I am raring and ready to go._ ”

Ah, she laughs. Just laughs.

(If only she knew the blistering behind Lance’s rambling.)

 _Oh to where to even begin._ The beginning is surely a very good place to start?

“I guess I can start with our very first introductions.”

“ _No, no no. Don't tell me_.” He’s thrumming and trilling his fingers all along his car. “ _I’ll guess. You tripped on something and romantically feel into his arms.”_

“No, I-"

“ _Aw, shucks. Oh I know. You dialed a wrong number and he picked up the phone, but you could not resist his deep, dulcet voice._ ”

“Have you ever _heard_ him?” Allura inquires innocently.

“ _No. But it was worth a shot. How about this- you guys were at a dog park,”_

“Lance-"

“ _You were a barista_.”

“Lance."

“ _He was a barista?_ ”

She rubs her temples. “Lance.” 

He gasps. “ _You were CO-BARISTAS_!”

“Lance!”

“ _Yeah, babe._ ” He pulls down his visor mirror to wink at himself.

 _Babe_? 

 _Stop! Stop!_ Didn’t she promise that she would stop her explorative thoughts of Lance? Yes. She did. She nips them in the bud to let them rot where they lie. 

“All of those introductions sound auspicious indeed, but also like romantic comedy expositions. They sound scripted.”

“ _What, are you saying you guys_ didn’t _have a romcom exposition_?”

“He and I are hardly what you would call a ‘romcom’. We um. His father and mine paired us just a little after I was born.”

Lance almost stops the car. On the bloody’ _interstate._ “ _Like… Like an arranged marriage?_ ”

The woman sighs. “Yes. Almost exactly like an arranged marriage. It was never official, but our fathers always pushed us together. They were fervent in encouraging our relationship.”

“ _Oh yeah? And how’d that work out?_ ” Lance’s breath has finally regulated. “ _I guess I’ve already seen how it's worked out, haven't I though. Huh. With you guys… dating and everything._ ”

“Yes. It wasn't always this way, though. Especially through middle and high school, I was completely abhorrent to the idea. _Abhorrent_. I thought there were few worse travesties than being romantic with Lotor. My father was understanding durning that time, and he said I must always follow the pull of where my duty is calling.”

“ _Mhmm_.”

She engages the hair-twirling. Arm-stroking. Soft sighings. “Then the older I got, I became less abhorred. Then I became indifferent. When he came back from college… I. I guess you could say I had a change of heart.”

“ _Wooow_ ,” Lance drones. “ _The woman finally tells all_! _You finally gave in, then?_ ”

“He was so clever! Lotor is a brilliant man. Charming… attractive. Yes, I said it. It’s almost like he never even has to ask, and whatever he wants is given to him. But that’s not true. He studied hard, and now he’s pushing his way to senior partner to the firm. I’m so proud of him. There’s nothing he’s planned that he hasn’t achieved. Sometimes I get overwhelmed at how much he makes happen."

“ _Yeah_?”

“Yes. Sometimes. But I know he’s doing so much to take care of me. Of us.”

" _I see_.”

These spartan responses are making Allura curious in an ill way. She doesn't know what she expected from this recount of information, but it wasn't this. Probably.

“And that’s… that's the story.”

“ _That's the story_?”

“Yes. That’s it.”

“ _Wow. That’s so. Man. I don’t even know what to call that but it is so not anything I had in mind. I imagined something big. Grand.”_

“Something more romantic?”

“ _Yeah, girl! Something heart-stopping and sweeping. That’s what I expected._ ” He stops. He doesn’t close the connection, but it feels clogged. Like his voice is a semi trying to pass through Main Street cobblestones. “ _It's what you deserve._ ”

_What I deserve…_

Allura is uncomfortable. What she “deserves” has always been what she’s given; nothing more and nothing less. What she has ever deserved has been through the toil and work of her labor. Anything gratuitous or superfluous given is a grace. 

What she “deserves”? She doesn't want to think about it. 

“I’m scared to think of what ridiculous circumstances you've already envisioned for my own romance.”

“ _Oh, I’m so glad you asked. It’s so good. It would go like this: you and your-_ “

“Lance. Lance.” She shakes her head, sweetly. Softly. “I like the story I have. Maybe in the future I’ll look forward to indulging your romanticized flights of fancy.”

“ _Girl, you know you will.”_ Lance’s hand fans up and down his chest, like he’s ruffling his own feathers. Allura lets him preen. _“My flights are so very fanciful. You know at the parlor they like to call me Fancy Lancey. Cause. Cause of my flights of fancy._ ”

“Oh-ho, I see.” Fluidly she nods, empirically she agrees. “Then I have that much for to look forward to.”

“ _Yeah…_ ”

She hums. “Wait.” She stands to put her plate in the sink. “Did you say ‘parlor?’” She doesn't take another step.

“ _I sure did, pretty lady._ ”

“You do mean a tattoo parlor, yes?”

“ _I sure do, pretty lady.”_

She groans. “Ah. Then that would explain all of your elaborate…” how does she word it. “Body art.”

Perfect.

“ _You mean my tats_?” Tats works too, she guesses. “ _I’ve got them all over. For a little while I was afraid it was going to become an addiction. I like the way ink fills in the empty space, you know_?”

No. Allura does not know at all. “I see.”

“ _I juuust remembered you don’t have a single tattoo. Yikes._ ” Lance sucks in his breath. “ _Any particular reason why?_ ”

She smiles cheekily in response. “No, not really. I thought about getting one for the longest time. Something on my wrist to remember my mother and father by. Maybe something up on my ribcage where it was discreet, so I brought up my musing to Lotor.”

“ _Yeah._ ” Lance sounds unfathomably disinterested. (There goes another _nip_.) 

“He didn’t seem too crazy about it. He said I couldn’t really pull off the look. I was inclined to agree, so I didn’t.”

“ _Mmhmm_.” His interest is ever decreasing.

“Maybe I can talk to him and see if I can’t persuade him again. What do you think if we got matching tattoos?”

“ _Don’t recommend,_ ” he cuts in.

“Why's that?”

“ _Too much can go wrong. Not a lot of people have the foresight to plan in case the relationship goes sour. If, and often cases it does go wrong, they can’t do anything with their crazy ridiculous tattoo. They’re stuck looking at that same reminder for the rest of their life. Of course, that's if they don’t want to get it removed. But getting tattoos removed is such a bit-_ “

“Oh.” 

Meekly, Allura interrupts his ramblings and mumblings. 

“ _Not-_ “ time for Lance to _backtrack, backtrack!_ “ _Not that you guys don’t have foresight. From the sounds of things, you sound pretty solid with the man so permanence wouldn’t be something I would worry about. I'm just saying. Other people do. A lot. It’s a common problem. You know?_ ”

Permanence? Now that is a problem Allura sees clearer than Lance’s own view. “I see.”

She sees it all too well. 

 

—

 

Wow, Lance just made that take a turn for the worse. Really, dude? Did he have to go so deep in his own personal grief? He should have shut the hell his mouth and let her run back to Losnore and get their couple’s tattoos. Let her show it off to him. Let them run off in their lover’s folly. He should have. Instead he let his mouth run off in all the ways she can't let herself have this one good thing.

Great.

Now he feels like crap. 

_Then it’s time to fix it, you dingus._

Right. Right. Time to fix. 

He never wants to hear her that dejected _ever again,_ but how does he make it all copacetic?

Lance thinks they're ready to sit their asses down for storytime. 

Chancing a look out the window, he looks for signs for- would you _look at that._ The second he looks to his right, a glowing green and white sign for different lodgings zoom past him as he approaches the next exit. Nice.

Allura sees him merging to the right for the off-ramp.

“ _Where are you going?_ ”

Lance’s voice is oily slick, ribbon-curled. “Oh. Nowhere special.” Nowhere _special_ , that much is true.

“ _Lance_ …" The woman’s voice is quick in its decent from dejected to suspicious. “ _What are you doing_?”

He doesn’t want to give the whole game away, now. He’ll allow this much: “I just want to show you something.”

“ _Ah_.” She lowers the raised hand resting near her neck. “ _Alright. I've never been one for surprises, but you seem very excited so it must be good_.”

“I know it's a little spur of the moment, but I think you’re going to like this. I mean. I think it’s only fair to show you.”

“ _Fair to show me? Lance are-_ “

“Whoops!” He pulls into a parking space. “So sorry, Allura.” He slings his backpack around his shoulder. Walks into the building “Had to cut out a little bit.” Gets a key from the concierge and bounds up to his room. “Also, I almost gave too much away."

The man's smile is so wide it's making him twitch. He really hopes Allura likes this surprise. 

“ _What is it, what is it, what is it_?”

She’s doing these little hop things around the kitchen sink. It's pretty cute.

_Focus, Lance._

“Now you'll just have to wait and see, princess.”

“ _Ugh_.” She hops herself up on the counter. While she swings her legs she whines, “ _What I can’t stand even more than surprises is_ waiting _._ ”

“I promise, you’re not going to wait long.”

It’ll only be as long as it takes for Lance to situate himself in front of a mirror. Only just as long as it takes for Lance to take off his shirt and roll up his pants. (With how skinny those things are? Might just be better to take them off.) The wait will only be as long as it takes for Lance to chill the jittering of his pulse. 

It’ll only be just as long as it takes for him to find his resolve. 

_Now or never, man._

He deepens his breaths.  He counts to ten. He wills his loud, obnoxious, not-computing heart to _be still_. 

It works kinda.

“ _What is it, what is it? Is it something in the hotel room? Have you been here before?_ ”

“Um. It’s something in the room, yeah.”

It’s both something and somethings. Allura would finally be privy to them if Lance would quit freakin’ stalling. 

He can't help it!

He doesn't know what is _wrong_ with him. He’s never been this body-conscious before. Come to think of it, he's never been body-conscious at all. It makes him rethink and question everything to Heaven and back. His stalling makes him re-fold his teeshirt at least three times over. His rethinking makes him pace in front of the mirror at least twice as much. His questioning makes him want to _bolt_ more times than he wants to count.

“ _Lance_?”

It's starting to bleed over to Allura.

_Okay. Really really this time._

Exhale.

He opens his eyes.

“You got a little bit of time?”

 

—

 

Does Allura have a little bit of time? 

She’d make all the time in the world if Lance is about to do what she thinks he’s about to do.

 

—

 

“I thought it would only be fair that I explain some of,” he waves a hand over his chest “this. And I know you don't have your own, but I figured that you were probably there to feel most of it, you should know why you were going through what you did.”

The woman’s voice is airy and diaphanous when she replies. “ _Yes. Absolutely._ ”

That’s a promising response. “Well alright, then.” He situates himself more comfortably in front of the glass. “Where should I start?”

Allura points to herself on the other side. “ _This one. Here._ ” She drags her hand from the top of her right shoulder down to her wrist.

_Ahh. A favorite._

“My sleeve?” They’re really in this for the long haul, aren't they? “I’ve always been partial to this one.” Allura nods, rapt. 

Long haul… here they come.

“ _Why’s that? Why is it important? I… I see a lot of blue. Blue on your arm, blue on your legs. Is that a lion?_ ” She points above his elbow.

“It sure is. I’ve always loved the water. Swimming I’ve always loved, too. I would swim all day if I could.” He chuckles stiffly. “When I was a kid, I- I thought I would run to the sea and marry myself a mermaid. Like I _belonged_ to the water or something like that.”

The woman hums.“ _Who say’s you don’t_?”

He’s stunned. He’s taken aback. He’s never had someone _not_ laugh in his face whenever he's said that. “Guess I’ll have to go back out and give it another try then, huh?”

“ _Yes! Go and swim, Lance! I’ve always thought the water was a strange, beautiful and powerful force._ ”

Funny. So does he. “I’ll get right on it. So yeah, the water and I, we’ve always been close. Tigh-t” He twists his arm for a 360 view. “I’ve got the waves going up and down, and then of course the lion.”

“ _I can’t_ -“ her speech is interrupted by her chortles. “ _I can't get over that little guy! He’s beautifully done, but. Why? Why the lion, Lance_?”

“The lion was a bit of an impulse,” he concedes. “Also, I really like lions. Now don’t get me wrong, they got _nothing_ over sharks-“ he holds up his left arm, “-but they’re pretty cool. If I ever went into the heat of battle, I’d want to do it on the high pedestal of a chariot with a lion by my side. For real.”

“ _Understandable,”_ the lady grins.  “ _On your other arm, are those sharks?_ "

He lowers his right, raises his left and turns it around just the same. “The waves and the lion I designed myself, but I asked one of my buddies at the shop to hook me up with this.” He turns his whole body around, looking over his shoulder to the backside of his arm. “Sharks are my _ish_ , ‘yall. Love ‘em.” 

So, he didn’t _love_ how long the blackout fins took or how _sensitive_ (oh he could cry thinking about that needle dragging against his forearm,) it was. Higher up on his arm wasn’t nearly as bad though. There and on his neck, he’s got these wicked-ass-

“ _Gills! Lance, do I see gills!_ ”

“So glad you noticed.” He stretches his upperbody out for maximum oogleage. “I got them here,” he lengthens his neck, “and here,” turning out his arm for Allura’s pleasure. View. Viewing pleasure. “The older I got, the more I realized how far-off my mermaid marriage dreams were. Then I got an idea.”

“ _An idea, now_?”

“Oh yeah. You're gonna love this. I thought if I couldn’t marry a fish-lady, I’d become a _fish-dude_."

She tilts her head. “ _Or shark_?”

“Well. Yeah. Shark… dude. Sharks won out. Like, sharks are fish too though, so…”

“ _I know._ ” Allura smothers her melting smile behind her palm. “ _I'm just giving you a hard time.”_

She roams her eyes over his biceps and forearms, taking in every detail. Lance feels appraised. He kinda likes it. And come to think of it? He’s never given the full rundown on all his ink to a person. He's shared tidbits of their backstory to a few different people, but nothing full-blown like this. He feels _giddy._

It's kinda liberating.

_Allura’s eyes, though. They’re. They look like they're lingering._

Lance tilts his chin, looking up and down trying to match where she was looking. (No doubt giving her a headache while he's at it.) 

“What’chya looking at, there?”

_Called out!_

The woman’s face tints red, red red. " _I was-_ “ she sniffs. “ _I was trying to figure out what that tattoo says. The one right,_ ” pointing to her ribcage, “ _well. There._ ”

“Hm?"

Lance knows exactly what tattoo she means. She should know that he’s going to make this exactly as difficult as he can for her. 

“ _The… the one_.” More awkward pointing. “ _It looks almost like a barcode. Is it a barcode_?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Lies, lies. Filthy lies.

He takes a certain kind of pride in it.

“ _It’s right there!_ ” Poor girl, she's about to burst. “ _Also black. It's really thin. You know which one I'm talking about! Stop being difficult!_ ”

Not a chance. 

“No idea.”

“ _The one_ ** _right there_** _!_ ” she yells, practically pointing at her boob. 

Okay. She’s had enough grief. He snickers and concedes, “Wait, this one?” 

“ _Yes, yes you bastard. What does it say? If it says anything at all._ ”

Lance runs his hand over his left ribcage, a coy smirk staining itself all over his face. “This one one wasn’t an impulse, but still pretty dumb.” He looks at his own reflection, right in the eyes. “It says ‘sharpshooter’”.

“ _I’m afraid I don’t understand.”_

He spares her the Loverboy Lance visual, instead explaining “I have to lie down for you to make out the letters.”

“ _I-_ “ her breath hitches. Ah. She’s thinking. She’s thinking… She’s getting it? “ _I understand_.” She got it.

“Yeah. Maybe not my proudest one, but I don’t even have the excuse that I was drunk while getting it.” The more he's thinking about it, the less he’s fond of paining himself in this light. “We can move on if you want!”

A smooth transition.

It does the trick for whatever reason, because Allura’s quick to point to the colorful array on Lance’s calf.

“ _What are these? They’re beautiful._ ” 

He can't show the full picture with his pants still on but he does his best.  The watercolor flower design is the most nostalgic by far. He always speaks of it with the most reverence. Pointing over his jean-clad thighs, he starts from the top of the tattoo.

“I actually have a few different kinds. At the top of my leg are little lotus flowers. By my knee are irises. The ones you're seeing are the dancing ladies. My artist hated me for those; I needed every detail photo-exact.”

“ _Lotus, iris and dancing ladies”_ she whispers. “ _Any particular reason?_ ”

Besides the star scene on his back, the flowers are the proudest tattoo he’s gotten. He’s more than happy to explain the reasons.

“The lotus because I love the water. That’s a given. Also,” he laughs into his hand. “Actually, no. I’ve spent enough time being dumb. Moving on. The iris because of their color. You can't tell me that rich, rich hue isn’t doing everything for my eyes.”

“ _Lance. Those flowers aren’t anywhere near your eyes._ ”

“Not the point! Moving on. Again. Lotus for the water.” _For the most part._ “Iris for the color. They’re also my sister's favorite flowers. They remind me of her. The dancing ladies are definitely the most out-lying of the bunch. They’re for…”

It’s quickly dawning on him the consequences of not explaining his tattoos to anyone. He didn't think he’d choke up at this part! What is wrong with him? It's not even that hard to say.

“ _Lance? What are they for?”_

Allura’s voice is gentle but he feels all the more pressured.

 _Just get it out_!

“ _Lance?_ ”

Scraping above a mumble, Lance admits “They’re for my mom.”

“ _What was that_?”

“My mom.” Only just a few decibels louder. “They remind me of my mom.”

“ _The orchids remind you of your mother? That’s very sweet, Lance. A good choice.”_

His voice swoops right back down. “They remind me of home.”

The lady is too sharp; she caught every word. “ _Oh, Lance. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to._ ”

“No. No, it’s alright.” It really is. The whole “dishing his life-story to an almost stranger” aspect is getting to him, but other than that, he sees no reason not to extrapolate. “The dancing ladies were always my mom’s favorite. There were orchids everywhere back in Cuba.”

“ _That's home for you_?”

“Yeah. There were orchids everywhere back home and my mom couldn’t part with them.” His laugh is grating and rough. “I swear, she a pot of orchids on every windowsill.”

“ _Maybe she wanted to be reminded of home, too_.”

She says it like she knows there’s no “maybe” about it. 

“Perhaps.”

But Lance can’t bear with bringing Allura that deep in, already.

Graciously, she lets the loaded silence pass undisturbed. She lets himself hook back into his Dreams, but he’s going to _stop that right quick_.

“Wanna see some more?” He asks eagerly.

Ohh. Ouch. His overcompensation hurt even himself; he can’t imagine how that must have sounded coming through to her. She makes no reaction to it though, choosing to let him have his diversion.

“ _A silly question. Of course I do._ ”

“Know any Spanish?” He strokes his chin, all pontificating.

“Not _a silly question. I know quite a fair amount of Spanglish. Does that count?_ ”

“Sp-“ Lance can’t keep it together. “ _Spanglish!”_ He’s _dying_. “Sadly, your vast Spanglish probably won't help us here. I’ll have to teach you _Spanish_ Spanish if we have any hope of continuing this thing we’ve got going.”

“ _Profesor Lance. I guess I can see it_.”

Lance… Lane isn’t going to touch that with a 10-foot pole. He respects Allura too much for all his arbitrary and worrying interests.

“I ask if you know Spanish because,” he lifts his left leg. “You can’t see it right now cause the pants, but under here I have one that says ‘la red’”.

“ _La Red. Interesting._ ” She’s catching on with the chin-stroking. “ _Why’s that_?”

“‘The connection’”.

“ _You did it for the connection? Did you-_ “

“No, no. _La red_ means ‘the connection’. Like, ‘network’”.

She squints her eyes, envisioning the ink under Lance’s jeans. “ _Very poignant._ ”

“Poignant.” He raises a brow. “Why’s that?”

“ _It wasn’t so by the time you were getting it I suppose, but knowing all that’s transpired now? What’s bound to transpire in the future regarding both of us? I believe in the supernatural. I don’t believe in coincidences. I think that tattoo is very special._ ”

His intelligence behooves him to agree. “Then it must be so."

“ _Mmm_.” Allura peruses his ink again. She looks over the red and grey gills stretching over Lance’s neck and left arm. She follows the waves, swirling and colliding down his right. She squints her eyes at his funnily little “sharpshooter” tattoo. The dancing ladies trail up his calf, but he can only roll his jeans up so far.

She then remembers the brief glimpse of stars spattering his back.

“ _Speaking of special- that one on your back_?”

He turns around, hooking his chin over his shoulder best as he can. “Yeah?”

“ _That one must be important if the sheer size of it doesn't signify anything._ "

“A most discerning eye you have.” He jostles his left shoulder. “This is the constellation Leo.”

“ _Leo._ ” Lance is watching her mental calculations. “ _A summer baby. Who’s the lion?_ "

“That would be me.” His right shoulder blade bounces under his jerking. “This one is Scorpio.”

“ _For your mother_?”

“Good guess, but no.” He smiles to her. “It’s actually my sister. This one was a birthday gift from her.”

She whistles. “ _Wow. A most generous gift, indeed._ ” 

Lance reminds himself to let his sister know of Allura’s high praise.

“We talked about the design a lot before hand. Because the pointillism took so long I had more sessions, but if you go and ask Teresa, she won't even deny her delight in my suffering.”

" _It's my understanding that that’s how siblings are supposed to be. It's only natural. It’s law._ ” Cheeky wink.

Lance is a weak boy, but somehow, he surmounts. He asks something that's been niggling at him for a while. “Do you not have any siblings?”

“ _No, I don't unfortunately. Or maybe in this case, fortunately._ ” (She’s laughing at his expense, so this is how Lance knows she’s really vibing with him.) “ _It was my mother, father and I for a bit. Then she passed, so it was just my father and I_.”

He doesn't like this past-tense verbiage.

“Was?”

“ _Yes. ‘Was’. My father just passed recently; about which I’m still rather sensitive, so you’ll forgive me if I spare you details. I will say this much though- his death is what prompted the expediting of Lotor’s and my relationship.”_

“Huh.”

Yes, Lance feels dumb for “huh” being his first response, but. What else was he going to say? _Neat_?

“ _Anyhow! I apologize, Lance. We were talking about you and your stories.”_ She waves her hands near her head. “ _The constellation of Leo for yourself, Scorpio for your sister. Any other tie-ins or deeper meanings to that one_?”

He’s so glad she asked. As a matter of fact, there is.

“I got the orchids for my mom, but the stars? The stars were always mine. If all the water in the world dried up or Godzilla came and drank it all,” he pauses to appreciate Allura's lofty giggle, “then space would be a close second. Close, close second.”

“ _The stars._ ” The woman sounds star-struck. “ _Why the stars?_ ”

“The stars because…" he scratches his head. “Because,” he rubs his arm. Tilts his head. “I-“ flicks his nose. Every time he's role-played the answer in his head, he always had an eloquent soliloquy ready on the fly. In his head, he wasn't able to stop talking.

Now? He’s trouble getting his sentiment out. 

 _Allura's been waiting patiently, though! Come on, dude. Just get_ something _out_.

"The stars because… there's so many.”

That there are, Lance.

“ _Very true._ ” Her pitying smile is still kind. " _Anything else_?"

“Yeah! Yeah, they’re. They’re…” 

What _are_ stars, actually? 

“They’re beautiful."

“ _I quite agree.”_ Lance turns to face forward again, getting comfortable while he feels her gearing up for another mini-story. " _In the summer, I would volunteer for these kids’ camps. They were always held deep in the woods somewhere; the scenery was beautiful. I was never fond of the bugs, but all would be forgiven once night fell._ ”

"Why's that?”

“ _The stars._ ” She taps to her own back. “ _The skies are never clearer than when you're out at sea, or when you’re out away from all city life in the middle of the woods. Away from all the light pollution and the noise and the haze, the stars are so bright. They're so vibrant._ ” She’s no longer looking back at Lance. “ _I never felt as small then when I was sitting out on that field at camp, just watching the stars flicker. Beautiful is a terribly underwhelming word.”_ Her eyes are pulsing with radiance when she faces him again. _“Somehow, I think I understand your feeling._ "

Lance is coming to understand that Allura has a nasty habit of lying when she “tepidly thinks” about something  she most irrefutably understands. She knows the feeling precisely. 

“ _Am I close?_ ”

“You hit the bullseye.”

It’s _stupefying_.

One last perusal over Lance’s arms and legs and neck and she asks, “ _anything else_?”

He slips his shirt back on. “No. No, that’s it. That’s all of them. I think I’m going to cap it here for awhile. It’s not like I’m short on space, but I want to save it for when it counts.”

“ _Very smart_.” 

Lance isn't sure why she averts her eyes when he's putting his shirt back on, but he appreciates the attempt for modesty all the same. 

“ _Thank you for showing me all those. Now I finally realized what the buzzing and stinging in my arms, legs and everywhere was._ ”

“How did you used to explain it as?”

“ _Period pains._ ”

“No kidding.” He’s enjoying watching Allura’s leg swinging from her place on the kitchen counter. “For real?”

“ _Yes. Especially when you got your constellations done. I thought it was simply a case of really bad PMS pains. Back soreness is not uncommon, you know. The arms and legs were deviant, but I didn't think to pay them much more mind. I've never had a strong constitution to begin with._ ”

“Huh.” _Again with the huh’s, Lance?_ “There’s one more mystery solved, then."

“ _Indeed_.”

He nods. “Yeah.” His eyes fly right open. “Really? Your arms and legs? For PMS?” Something doesn't seem right to him. “You sure?"

“ _Ah. I think the more you got, the more I was inclined to include them under my anxiety._ ”

“That would work too, yeah."

Allura nods back. He nods one more time. 

Yep.

They keep nodding back and forth to each other… and it’s getting a little awkward. 

 _There's nothing to fill the space_!

He guesses it's a good time as any to resume his road-tripping endeavors. 

“Well, Allura, I’m glad you allowed this little diversion of mine. I'll try to keep surprises at a minimum for the future.”

“ _It’s quite alright! I think I rather enjoyed this particular surprise. If there’s something I can never get enough of, it's stories. Everyday is a chance to learn something new._ ” By Lance’s hands, he can see the lady’s own twirling her hair between her fingers. “ _Thank you for sharing. Truly_.”

He turns back around to the mirror, bowing towards it. Towards her. "It was my greatest pleasure.” He turns back, picking up his backpack. “Now I think I should get myself back on the road. I’ve got a road trip to make happen, you know.”

“ _Of course, of course._ ”

He’s _this close_ to walking out the door, when her voice hovers like the mist above Lane’s field of should’a, would’a, could’as. 

“ _Hey, Lance_.” Tentative. Shy. As if he wouldn’t stop at her very whisper of his name. “ _Your road trip.”_ She twiddles her tumbles. “ _You've mentioned it in passing, but you haven't told me all that much about it._ ”

He backs up from the threshold. “You… You want me to tell you more about it?”

“ _Where have you been so far? Have you taken photos?_ ” Her leg swinging speeds up 2-fold. “ _I miss road-tripping. So yes. Tell me everything about it. I shall have to live vicariously through you.”_ Her head snaps up. “ _If that's alright_.”

“What?” Lance exclaims. He tosses off his backpack when- _camera in there, camera in there_ \- he catches it, then lays it on the bed in a gentle and delicate-like manner. “It’s _more_ than alright!” Rustling and digging through all his crap, he rips his camera out and flips that ish on right quick. “It’s not like you've had to suffer through all the worst parts of my life. I can do this much for you.” He holds the camera as close to his eyes as he comfortably can. “Tell me when you want me to move to the next one."

So much for getting back on the road. Lance doesn’t want to bear spending a moment apart from Allura’s comforting voice, so he intentionally loses all the time he can with her.

For at least 40 minutes, (more? And _hour_?) he scrolls through every photo in his camera’s memory, explaining every brief happening or laborious memory married with it. He can feel the woman's undivided attention in himself. It spurs him on.

The happy, silly photos get more time allotted to them. The unsavory he barely gives a passing mention to. Allura doesn't press for details.

She predictably oohs and aahhs at the quaint antique shops. She laughs (snorts, really) at the oddball museums Lance couldn't pass up. She's jealous of the mom-and-pop ice cream and coffeeshops he’s sauntered through. She sighs in wistful desire at the tire swings connecting far ends of peaceful streams.

She compliments every photo.

It’s a double-edged sword.

For every photo she remarks on, laughs at, sighs with- Lance can all too clearly imagine her smiling face in the frame. He sees his arm hooked around hers, both of their faces shining back to the lens. The vision comes too easy.

It's another Dream, and he already knows how dangerous they are.

But Allura’s voice keeps coming. His fantasies keep playing. He’s still wanting.

He wants… 

He wants-

“I want to meet you.”

Yeah. That.

“ _Come again_?”

Oh SHH- _OOT_. He said it, too. _Dammit_.

“I… uh.” 

There's no getting out of this one, buddy.

“I said I…” _mumble mumble_ “ _want to meet you._ ”

“ _I- I think_.” She cuts herself off, laughing. “ _I was about to say our connection was breaking up! That's good, isn't it! Excuse me, sorry. Bad humor. Really though, I can't catch the last part of what you're saying. Do you mind repeating?_ ”

“I said I want to meet you. Allura, I-“ he sucks in a breath. Runs his fingers through his hair. “I’m looking through these pictures and I'm thinking, ‘ _God_. How much better would these photos be if this lady were in them?’ It’s. I can’t get it out of my head. The fact that I can hear whatever you hear, see whatever you see- I can’t. I don’t think I’m going to get over it for a long time.” Lance can feel his face _burning_ and he’s so glad he turned away from his reflection. “I don’t want to be a weirdo or a creeper but I want to see you _so bad_ and sort this out, and-“ 

Yeah. That’s enough for now.

“ _Meet me? You’d really want to do that_?”

He jumps in place. “Yes! Allura, you have no idea.” 

“ _Meeting up. Do you really think…_ ”

Lance is too excited to hear what he's supposed to really think. “Holy crow, Allura! I got the best idea! You're going to love this. Holy cow, holy cow, holy cow."

“ _What is your idea_?”

"I'm on this road trip, right?"

“ _Right._ "

“Check it out.” He’s shaking just trying to get the idea out. “I'm on this road trip. What if… you were too."

" _Me? Take a road trip?_ ”

“Yes! Yes, yes! I'm driving! You drive! We'd meet each other in the middle, we'd meet in the flesh, what do we think. I’m coming from Florida. You're in Cali, right? What's the middle. Arizona?” Probably not. “ _Ugh_ I've always sucked at geography."

“ _A road trip. This is_ terribly _sudden, Lance. I haven't done one in so long. What would I tell Lotor.?_ Oh Heavens, Lotor. _I don't know. I don't know…_ ”

“Think about it, Allura!” He can't push his nerves back down. “There's no better time! You're not working, I’m not working. _Heh heh._ Tell Lotor the truth: you're meeting a childhood friend. If he grills you for details, it's not like I'm not right there. We’ve had this going on for our entire lives. I think we owe it to each other to meet at least once."

Allura's got him waiting on baited breath.

_What’s it gonna be, what's it gonna be._

“What do you say, your Highness?” he prompts. “Wanna take the drive?"

She slips off the countertop, clenching her eyes together tight.

She leaves him on read.

“ _Let me think on it, okay?_ ”

At this point, Lance will let her think for as long it takes- even if takes the rest of their natural life.

He’ll make the drive to the other side of the country to see her if that' what it takes. 

She can think for their whole lives more.

 


	6. Auspicious Meetings

Allura keeps thinking. She can’t _not_. Dropping everything to join Lance on a cross-country road trip? What is _he_ thinking? It’s true she doesn’t have a job so it’s not the taking time off that she has to worry about. It’s not like she doesn’t have her own car. She can take herself anywhere she pleases.

But. What about Lotor? What would he think? What would he say? “Meeting an old friend.” Would he really buy that? 

What if Lance isn’t what Allura thinks he is. 

(Nonsense. She’s already been with him in jail. He was with her when her mother died. They are too far past the line of personal intricacies for it to be a real problem.) 

What if Allura can’t make the drive? Even more true than her lack of consequences is her interval from non-stop driving. What if she’s… forgotten how?

_Forgotten how to road trip? Now you know that’s hogwash, Allura_. One doesn’t simply “forget” how to drive. Surely?

In persuasion’s aid, Lance shows her photo after photo of other places he’s been. Places he’s going without her.

“ _Look Allura, the Biltmore was massive. Massive. Lots of history… stuff.”_

She’s always wanted to visit the Biltmore estate.

“ _Nothing but peach grove after peach grove. Obviously this was a little earlier, but I can still taste them. Nothing beats homegrown._ ”

He opened their link when he went peach-picking in Georgia. She still remembers the tart pulp running over their tongues.

“ _The botanical gardens in Birmingham were to_ die _for_.”

His little detour to Alabama was what pushed her to the ledge. Him smelling all the flowers and strolling aimlessly through the gardens made her _incensed._ How dare he do it without her? She thinks it’s about time she told him how much and how deep her love for horticulture runs.

“ _You know Allura, these photos could be yours in only a few short days. They would be made shorter if you started driving out, too_.”

She knows that all too well. It’s killing her.

What’s holding her back?

" _You can always go back home after we meet. I don’t want to pressure you into this, but. I. I really want to. I think, maybe- no, I’m hoping but still- that you want to, too?_ ” Lance lowers his camera from another antique house in South Carolina. “ _This could be good for you. Stop fixating on the worst cases. The what-ifs._ ” He raises it again to snap the picture. “ _The longer you wait, the less you’re going to want to do it._ ”

Think of the estates, Alllura. Think of the peach groves reaching father than the eye can see, their velvet skin fuzzing under the pads of her fingers. Think of the costal color, think of the photos just piling up on Lance’s memory card. Think of the _flowers_.

How would flowers ever be bad for her?

She… she’s liking the idea more and more. The question starts moving from what if to _why not_?

Why couldn’t she make the drive? She’s still young and vital, she’s not beholden to much. She could stop whenever and wherever she wants. She could start taking photos of her own to show Lance. She could make her way over to peach groves and mansion estates and botanical gardens all on her own.

What has she to lose?

Before Lance can even get to the next city up in North Carolina, Allura settles her resolve.

_Enough photos._

“I’m writing a note to Lotor.”

She’s pulling on her big-girl pants.

“ _What’s it going to say_?”

She’s got a little agency of her own, right?

“I’m explaining what’s happening.”

“ _And what is happening, exactly_?”

She’s doing it before she can change her mind.

“I’m going to make the drive, Lance. Just tell me where.”

She packs and plans far more methodically than Lance, even if her heart is thundering harder than his was. She makes sure to fold her laundry and count the pairs of socks she brings. She employs actual luggage. She pulls all her toiletries and shoes and jewelries with slow, if anxious, hands.

She has to do it before she changes her mind.

She almost does every time she pulls another shirt. It’s a very near thing when she zips all her luggage closed. It’s very close when she stages everything at the door.

When she puts her pen to a sticky note, her mind screams to call it all quits right then.

Hushing it all down, she presses the pen harder so the strokes write smoother.

_Short and sweet, Allura._ The note doesn't have to be a soliloquy.

It’s going to be hard managing anything other than a “I’m in another state, call me, love you!” to Lotor in any case. She’s certain if she pulled loose leaf like she wanted to, her written fretting would have been enough to psyche her out.

Thankfully, Lance is there to keep encouraging her from her perturbation.

“ _You can do this, babe. This is your choice. You don’t have to do this if you don't want to, but don’t let your fears hold you back.”_

Allura lays her pen down.

“ _It’s up to you. No one else. Personally, I hope you join me, but I... I'm going to stop interrupting you now. You got this. Just let me know._ ”

She peels off the note. Privately, Lance’s words make her smile inside and out. She rounds around her suitcase. Hikes up her duffle bag on her shoulder.

She’s doing it. She's making the drive.

She can’t believe she’s _actually doing this_.

_I’ll deal with what Lotor says when he says anything._

Dealings with the other housewives she's had to make nice with will come in time, she’s sure. 

Precisely. _In time_. For right now? She’s going to chase the first reckless thing she’s ever done in her life.

She’s going to set herself free.

“I’m going to take so many photos, Lance.”

 

—

 

Lance is… he can’t actually believe that Allura’s going to be doing this. It only took a week of convincing (provoking) her, but she’s making the drive.

Holy Lord.

Good grief.

“SHUT THE FRONT DOOR-“ _Lance is going to be meeting Allura._

His freaking out is a steady, undercurrent stream that only manifests in gentle hand-shakings. 

Allura's freaking out is more spontaneous. It comes in waves. 

It’s a whiplash.

“ _What if Lotor gets upset with me? I didn't even call him to tell him I was leaving. I just left! What if he needs me for something_!”

Lance kindly talks her down. It works for a while. She perks right up.

“ _Oh Lance_ ,” she’ll sigh. “ _The air is so nice. The breeze is so beautiful. The sun is just perfect today. I don't know why I ever stopped doing this. I should have asked Lotor to do this with me so much earlier!_ ”

Lance _yes, yes_ ’s and much less enthusiastically _yeah, yeah_ ’s to that.

Then she makes her first pit stop.

“ _Heavens, Lance_!” The woman nearly flings the gas nozzle out of her car. “ _I’m actually on the road! I’m going to meet you! You’re coming to meet me! I have suitcases filled with clothes and I’m going to stay in a hotel for the first time in years. Lance!_ ”

She’s freaking out over nothing. He, more gracefully, tells her so. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.” Okay so _that’s_ a lie but rationale isn’t a key player here. “You’ll be okay. We’ll both be okay. Just make sure not to stay in seedy hotels like I've been doing and you’ll be more than okay. You’ve done this before!” He drums rhythms over his steering wheel to distract his own worrying. “This drive is meant to be enjoyable."

He always enjoys spending time with Allura regardless, but that’s not a player, spectator or even opposer, here. His biggest concern is keeping her at a reasonable, manageable median of emotion.

“ _This boutique was too cute to pass up! I never knew how long or lonely these interstates could be, but I’m having so much fun exploring. Thank you for pulling me out to do this_!”

It’s not that easy.

“ _I’ve already wasted so much money, Lance! What if I run out before I even get to meet you?_ ”

The talking down is more and more pressing.

“ _Look at the pictures I've already taken! You’re driving, right. Right. The next time you make a pit-stop, then! You have to see these, you must._ ”

He _must_ want this terribly bad if he’s keeping his own patience at a steady median. He’s pretty sure his tone is neither cresting or troughing, but he can’t hear his own voice back to him.

“I look forward to it, your Highness.”

That didn’t sound too snippy. Did it?

" _You have to remind me to save room on my memory card. I know once I start driving to the desert-deserts I won’t want to keep my hands off my camera. You must promise to help me keep self control._ ”

Apparently not too snippy. Either way, Lance isn’t about to start making nonsense promises to Allura. Isn’t the whole point of cross country drives taking too many photos? Like, half the point at least.

“I will agree to no such thing,” Lance says while crossing Tennessee boarders. “Take all the photos you want, girl. Delete the ones you can live without later. Keep the memories you want to remember.”

“ _Yes, but_.” She hyper-fixates her eyes to the road. “ _They're yours, too_."

That's true… enough.

“They’re through your eyes first, Allura.” That sounds way more better. “Stop being afraid. Stop waiting for permission. You could’ve turned around at any time you wanted. You still can. But somehow, you're still out driving. We're still going to meet each other. I know it’s overwhelming, but it's also _hella frickin cool_.” He implores, “Don't miss out on it, Allura. Don't overthink it. Trust yourself more, babe.”

 

—

 

Trust herself more? Allura can feel the imminent dawning of tears. _Don’t miss out._ She doesn’t want to. _Don’t overthink it_. If only there was a bloody switch.

_You have to trust yourself more, Allura darling._ Her father’s voice is honey-sweet, dripping with the reassurance and wisdom awarded to him by age. She’s having flashbacks of his hands gripping her shoulders, wiping her tears after multiple knee scrapes from bicycle excursions gone wrong. Then there’s him after her first broken heart, talking her down after countless curse after curse at herself. If she couldn't trust her own intuition, whose could she trust? She had to trust herself. Ah, then there’s father holding her hand at her busted “traveling show.” He bolstered her the best he could after her acidic humiliation. 

Now here’s Lance. _Trust yourself more_.

She can stop second-guessing. She's going to stop looking behind her. (It’s times like these she’s thankful she's not bearing Orpheus consequences.)

For once, she lets her self get lost. Wonderfully, deliciously, cluelessly _lost._  

Lance is right. It's unfathomably overwhelming. It’s nothing she can’t find her way out of. 

It’s indescribable.

Farther and deeper than the boutiques off the side of the road, she drives herself truly off the beaten track. Down gravel and dirt roads, she takes photos unmatched. Her bravery is rewarded in the from of quiet bed and breakfasts. Unexpected cliffs with views unexplainable.

“You’re seeing this too, right Lance?” She swivels her person slowly so he gets the full panoramic.

“ _I sure am_.”

She keeps going.

She’s way, way too south to see the redwoods, but she’s happily taking the desert-scapes over the palm trees. The dusty monochrome is better. More genuine. Less fake. It has nothing over the ruddy colors of Lance’s swamps, but she’s taking what she can get. 

She’s getting more punchy by the second. Lance can feel it on the other side, she knows it.

“ _Glad you're finally getting on board._ ”

So is she.

They drive and drive and drive, Lance’s dusk rising durning Allura's late lunch. They drive and drive and drive, talking about everything under the sun. Inside their dreams. On the road before them. They talk and before they know it, nightfall has confidently settled over them both.

On Lance’s side blackness doesn’t preside yet, but it’s getting close. Orion has already made his unfavored presence known so Allura's sky won’t be too far behind. 

Poor Lance can’t keep his yawns under wraps. 

“Shall we find a hotel for the night?” Allura asks, stifling her mouth behind her hand.

“ _I think that would be smart, yeah._ ”

They break off to find their respective lodgings for the night. As the woman types in her GPS, all she can think about is how so many states between them makes the sunset seem so different. It would make her feel lonely if she don’t know she could reach out at any time. She would be sad if she didn’t realize the full, irrefutable proof that Lance is actually making the drive to meet her, too. 

She can’t wipe the goofy smile off her face. Not when she’s checking into her hotel, not when she’s bringing her luggage up to her room, not when she’s laying herself down to sleep.

She’s not worried in the slightest.         

 

—

 

Lance has never been more worried. He’s suddenly understanding the way Allura could explain her tingling arms and legs with anxiety.

He’s never liked unknown numbers. After his little conversation with Rolo and his pals at the bar, he likes Nyma’s ringing number even less.

So much less.

He has to answer. Doesn't he. He’s trying to hold out for hope, though. Maybe this time really is a friendly chat. He’ll give her the benefit of the doubt. She doesn't have to do all of Rolo’s bidding. 

Yeah.

“Hello?”

“Lance. I know you haven’t given an answer yet.”

Damn. Not a friendly chat, then.

The vibrato in his voice doesn’t want to smooth so he’ll slather his bravado all over it. 

“Nyma!” he greets with a wide open arm. “How lovely it is to hear your voice. I've missed you terribly, you know. Such a shame you left me with me only with that shiner but I’ll forgive you.”

“Shut _up_ , Lance. I didn't leave you with a shiner, I left you with what you deserved. It’s cute that you think you can make me feel bad about it, though.”

He holds a hand under his chin. Bats his eyes. “I am pretty cute, aren't I."

“ _Shut_ ** _up_** , Lance.” She huffs. “Consider this a courtesy call. Rolo still wants you for that delivery, so don’t be surprised if he shows up at your doorstep sometime in the next few days. You’re welcome."

_Joke’s on Rolo anyway; he can pound on the door all he wants. So sad no one will be on the other side_.

“And don’t you think about trying to pry yourself out of it, either. Rolo’s got issues with loose lips. If we don’t see your happy ass at Naxzela next week, loose lips are going to be the least of your problems. Yeah?” She blows a loud kiss to the receiver before hanging up.

He’s too jarred to stop the dial tone.

_Loose lips being the least of my problems_. Rolo isn’t honest about a whole lot, but threats aren’t a part of that. 

Lance doesn’t want to think of what would have happened if he didn’t pick up the phone. 

_HA! Psyche buddy, you’re going to think about it anyway!_

It springboards his mind to hyperdrive. 

What if he hadn’t picked up the phone? What if Nyma was in even worse of a mood? (Cue the arm shakes.) Good God what if Rolo was on the other end of the line? Is he going to wait for Lance to come back to Florida?  
Cue the gasping.

Rolo isn't above his threats. He’s not afraid to do his own dirty work. _What if he comes out to drag Lance back home himself?_

Not once had he considered turning back around. He’d been flying so high, driving so fast. Feeling so good. Until now.

Now insets the blurred vision. Lance can’t breath, see, _think_ straight to save his life.

What does he tell Allura? 

But… what if she doesn't have to know?

 

—

 

It’s only a few states away vice the entire other side of the country that Allura receives an unsavory call of her own. Really, it’s about time that Lotor decided to pick up the phone.

She doesn’t know how to pitch her voice when she answers. She just goes for it.

“Lotor! How-“

“You know I’ve been worried sick?!”

She’s not all that sure why he is.

“You read the note I left for you, didn’t you? It’s only just a few more days then I’ll be back home. It’ll be like I was never even gone.”

“That's not the issue, Allura.” Lotor says, cross. Upset. Huffy. “You couldn’t even bother to call me that you were leaving? We couldn’t have sat down and talked about this? Before you did something so… so…” The woman can feel his spit from the other side when he says, “ _rash_?”

Rash isn’t entirely wrong, but it isn’t entirely right either. “I… I didn’t know what there was to talk about, darling. I’m just seeing a friend, Lotor.”

“A friend. A friend.” His voice lowers. Slows. “You keep saying ‘friend.’ What kind of friend is this, Allura?”

“A school-friend?” She’s not sure the angle he's trying to get at.

“A male school friend?”

Ah. “Y-yes, a male school friend.”

“Do I know this friend?”

This isn’t the direction Allura’s anxiety prepared the conversation. Now to exercise her dazzling improv skills. Prepare to be wowed by her _diplomacy_.

“I don’t think so, darling.” _Darling_ to hush the snarling. “It must have been back in elementary school.” Elaboration to quell the suspicions. “I got an email the other day that said there was an event he was going to, and thought I would be interested, too.” Reasoning to substantiate her decisions. 

“Do you know how incredibly dangerous that is?” 

Does he know how relieved she is that he didn’t was _what event_?

“We… talked. A lot. Before I made the decision.”

Lotor riles. “And you didn’t think to tell me about any of this elusive decision-making? Was I going to be included in this at all?”

“I’m sorry, Lotor. I didn’t think this would be such a big deal, I was only going to-“

“I’m _worried_ for you, ‘Lura.” He’s trying for calmness. The high tide of his voice is receding. “I’m only concerned for you. Picking up your things and leaving the house to meet a strange man? Out of the blue? I get trepidatious.” 

“I know, dear. I know. I’ll be home soon, Lotor. Back before you know it.”

“It’s alright, ‘Lura. I forgive you. You may have this time to… shake yourself out of this funk you’re in, but please do be hasty about it? I don't want to go to the firm’s luncheon without my faithful plus one, yes?”

The luncheon… 

The _luncheon next week!_ Another reason for Allura to have turned around!

“Yes! Oh goodness, yes Lotor! I’ll be back before then!” Probably.

“Good. You know how much I’ll miss you.”

“Yes, dear. I’ll make it. Don’t worry.”

“You know I will.” He sounds tired. Allura looks at the time on her phone. She’s not in another timezone yet, is she? Lotor resumes, “I’ll worry, worry, worry until the second you walk through the door again. Just make sure you come back in one piece, yes?”

“I’ll do my best,” she laughs.

“What did we say, ‘Lura. The jokes,” he chides. "In any case, I wanted to call to make you were alright. I know you sometimes like to let your flights of fancy get the better of you.”

She promises, “This isn’t that.” She keeps her voice small and soft. _Like the sweet Georgian peaches_. “Really, truly. I’m okay. I’ll be okay. Please trust me.”

“I will, darling. I _do_. Still. Skype me within the next couple of days, though. Okay? To make sure you’re still with us on planet Earth?”

Promises, promises. “Yes, Lotor. I can do that.”

“Alright. I have to go now, but I’ll see you soon. Be safe, dear.”

“Good night, darling.”

That’s how it ends. Allura plugs her phone in a jack, hops herself onto the bed, and makes herself comfortable in liminal space.

In all her tossing and turning, it’s not turning into a genuinely good night. She snuggles down on the bed farther.

She’ll cut herself some slack, though. It’s only her first night out alone. She hasn’t done this in a long time. She didn’t expect Lotor’s voice to be so bewildering. She didn’t expect the night to feel this short. The short night works in her favor, regardless.

_The shorter the evening, the closer the morning._

In the final tethers of sleep and awareness, the promise of a dawn with Lance makes her smile unshakeable. The promise of seeing Lance in the flesh makes her heart over-excitable. 

It is time.

 

—

 

“ _The kind of  person I was in school? Why Lance, why don't you tell me?_ ”

"You already told me you were the mice-training preforming entrepreneur so that's out the window.”

“ _Give that a rest! It was only for a summer!_ ”

Lance shrugs, meandering down streets under the melting Tennessee sun. So far, the morning has been spent with Allura waking him to a blinding sun crashing through his curtains. Together they’ve chatted, talked and meandered the day away. He pretends to still ponder and pontificate. Ultimately, it only gets him distracted by the showering yellow light- the only interruption in a cloudless, cornflower sky. The dry, whipping breeze on Allura's side double distracts him. 

“What kind of person you were in high school.” He pulls himself over to the inside edge of the sidewalk. He stops. He _hmmms_. “You were a theatre nerd, weren’t you?”

Allura snorts. “ _Please. If I were a ‘theatre nerd’ then you were a jock._ ”

It’s been a while since Lance has needled her. Far too long, for sure. “Well… you see, Allura-“

“ _No_!” She gasps. “ _You couldn’t have been! I would have seen it, right? I would have felt it!_ ” The denial is fierce with this one. “ _You being tackled, or- or. Falling! Or hurting yourself. I would have! I would-“_

“Allura. Allura.”

“ _Yes, yes, yes. What._ "

The laughter oozes and slips its way into Lance’s voice. "The height of physical activity I ever did in school was climb the stairs. Seriously.”

Without missing a beat, the woman replies “ _That seems far more accurate._ ”

“Ouch, Allura. That hurts me deep, why this would you do to me? You think I’m some kind of formless couch potato.” The stares he’s getting while he clutches his hand close to his heart- in the dead middle of the sidewalk, of course- he couldn't care less about. “I guess it doesn’t really matter now, anyway. You've seen this hot bod now. I’m like a beautiful butterfly. Everyone had to wait for me to come out of my cocoon.”

She gives him an inch: “ _You're from Cuba and you live in Florida, so you would know all about butterflies, wouldn't you?_ ”

He takes a mile. “Thank you for agreeing with my hotness. You really don't need to be so shy about it."

Does she need to laugh _that_ hard when he says it? Yikes. Whatever, he still has to give his own guess to her childhood stereotype. She’s already said no-ish to Drama Head. She doesn’t seem the Fine Arts type. She couldn’t have been a popular kid herself, could she?

“Were you a cheerleader?” he guesses.

“ _Please don't ever let those words escape your utterance again._ ”

Okay. Cool. Cheerleader’s out. _Phew._ “How about a good old-fashioned popular kid? You must have had pre-pubescent, acne-ridden boys beating down your door. Right?”

She sighs. “ _Hardly. There were no boys at my door, pre-pubescent, acne-ridden or otherwise. High school wasn’t dismal, but it certainly wasn't my favorite time, either. Are you out of guesses?_ ”

“Hell no.” He’s going to get this. “Anime weeb?"

“ _No._ ”

"Mathlete?"

“ _Try again._ "

“Great debater.”

“ _Closer.”_

Closer. Okay. “Okay. Not debating but close. What’s close to it. I don’t know, I’m assuming you were on a team of some kind? Not sports. Not arts. Not math. Probably not science-related, either?"

On some random bench in a random town, Allura sits to help narrow Lance’s clues. “ _Correct. Not science_.”

“Now I'm thinking public relations, but that-“ he sprints to sit himself on a bench, too. “I _got_ it!” he claps. “Student council! It had to be! Tell me I’m right. I'm right, aren't I?”

“ _I got to be treasurer for two years in a row._ "

“Nice, nice, nice! Look at you! That’s cool.” His proud gleam is conspicuous, but desaturated. “In school,” he hates to drag the mood. “They said I would never amount to anything.” He does anyway. “Not that they were wrong, but I can’t let them know that. You know?”

Allura’s anger rips across him like peeling tape. “ _They are wrong_.” She is righteous. “ _They are terribly wrong and you mustn't say that. I won't let you. Tattoo artistry is a very honorable, respectable living. I’m sorry if you wanted to be doing more with your life now, but contentment is the first step to true joy. It is. Don’t snicker at me. You're exactly where you need to be in life. Don’t let comparisons or past judgement take security away from you. It’s not fair to anyone._ ”

“Look at you, darlin’.” He relinquishes pride. “Now you’re the one giving the pep talks. You’re learning.”

“ _I mean it Lance._ "

He knows. He knows she does. 

“Thank you, Allura.”

He knows all too well. He knows something else, too.

“Hey! Holy crow, you know what?"

“ _What? What is it?_ ”

Lance piddles somewhere to find a bench of his own. “The only thing that would make this conversation better is-“

“ _Ice cream?_ ” Allura blinks. “ _It’s hot where you are._ ”

Close but not quite. “Someone’s hungry. Not that it’s a bad idea, but it’s not what I had in mind. I’m thinking more along the line of photos."

“ _Photos._ ”

“Yeah, girl! Photos!” He wiggles his legs out in front of him. “You know. Like… yearbook photos. That kind of thing. If we were back at home we could go through everyone’s embarrassing childhood photos immortally documented. I could have guessed all of your cringy  crushes. You could have seen me with braces. It would have been great.”

“ _Who says my taste was ever any less than exemplary? I resent the implication otherwise._ ” The woman raises her nose haughtily.

“Other than me of course, tell me all the boys in high school you could confidently call ‘exemplary.’”

She sniffs. “ _You’re digressing_.” 

“Cute.” Kicking his legs up, he does regret missing out on sharing another batch of memories with her. “Hold on.” Or does he? “I got it.”

“ _What have you got, Lance_?”

“Wait, wait, wait.” He lifts up his rump to pull out his phone. Tapping on the Facebook app, waiting for his friends list to load, his leg jostling must be at least Mach 2 by now.

“ _Is what I think is going to happen, actually going to happen?_

The smirking man conceals nothing. “Probably. I’m just trying to see who I should start with first.” As he scrolls through his friends’ icons, he picks the first person whose face sticks out.

“ _I’m excited already._ ”

Friend by friend, face by face, Lance and Allura move down his list of high school acquaintances. Every name is accompanied by a special facial expression. To this the woman takes great satisfaction. His expressions, and his ridiculous stories of he and his friends staying out too late. Not being where they ought. Being where they ought not to be. His faces are satisfying. His stories are satisfying. Her laughter is cramp-inducing. Her smiles are stretching and turning sore from being exercised so much.

The stories begin to wind down with names he can hardly recall. When the face is elusive along with the identification, Lance scrolls by without a second thought. There’s quite a big wall of nameless, faceless memories that he doesn’t address. 

Until one face and name in particular.

“ _She’s_ lovely.” Allura pipes in the momentary lapse. “ _Who is she?_ ”

Lance is not so sure he wants to say. _It’s not like she doesn't already know, moron. If she doesn’t, she can guess pretty well_. That’s true. Might as well be out with it.

“Her name’s Plaxum.”

Easy enough. Not like Allura can’t see her name already and everything. (Though considering he’s _glad_ he choked her name out without hurling, he leaves the “easy” on there tentatively.)

“ _Plaxum. That’s quite a name._ ”

“I thought so, too. She always went by her last name but it worked for her.” He inhales. Lets it out. “She was my first love.” He said it without inducing cardiac arrest. He should get a damn award or something.

“ _Your first love! And you said everyone in high school had despicable taste!_ ”

“No. No, wrong.” He shucks out his finger. “I implied that there weren’t any exemplary boys. By which statement I still stand.”

Allura is good. She is patient. She pushes some hair behind her shoulder as she says, “ _Now you’re really digressing. This Plaxum girl._ ” Lance can feel her sharing his gaze on Nyma’s profile. “ _She seems to be doing very successfully! If she was your first love, you must have had vastly better taste than I did._ ”

“I highly doubt it.”

“ _Nonsense. It’s neither here nor there._ ” After waving him off, she points her own fingers back to where Lance’s screen would be. “ _Now show me more of her profile. I want to know more about your first love,_ ” she fake swoons.

Audible groan. “You got it, your Highness.”

He moseys on over to Plaxum’s photos, waiting for Allura’s okay to swipe to the next one. Appropriate “oohs" and "ahhs" and “hmms” are given. Allura pries and pries and pries with all her might for more details, but Lance is keeping that ish on lockdown. No need to embarrass himself more than he already has.

“ _Look, look Lance!”_ She points vigorously, violently. “ _It says that she's still living in Florida! This is wonderful._ ”

“It's wonderful that she's living in Florida?”

“ _Yes! Absolutely!”_

He’s scared to ask why. So he doesn’t.

“ _I think you should give her a call._ ”

So he didn’t even need to ask. Cool. Awesome.

"Are you insane? I don't think I should give her a call."

“ _And why not?_ ” she challenges. “ _Unless you parted on ill terms, I don't see the issue. She’s beautiful! I think you still have feelings. It’s okay Lance, you don’t have to hide it_. _Here’s a new development, look at this! Her newest post says she’s in Kentucky. I’m seeing that right, aren’t I? You’re in Tennessee still, aren’t you? It’s perfect!_ ”

“I don’t have feelings for some girl I met almost 10 years ago.” Even to Lance’s own ears, he knows the gentleman doth protest too much.

“ _Ahh, but you see. She isn’t ‘some girl’. She was your first love. And you know what they say! Everyone always harbors a special place for their first love, whether they want to or not._ ”

Protest protest protest. “I’m not calling her.”

“ _You don’t have to say much! Just say you want to talk. Reconnect. Check up on her. Maybe you can ask if you both can meet up at that panel she’s doing near the aquarium. I saw the post._ ”

“Wh-hy are you pushing this so much?” he stutters. “I have nothing to connect me to her, anymore. This is stupid.”

“ _It is not stupid. It’s adventurous! Just like this road trip we're taking. Besides. If you two end up meeting, than you can take care of your man needs._ ” 

His “man needs.”

Suddenly, her tone clips. “ _I did this reckless, crazy, impulsive thing. Can you do something crazy and adventurous for me, too?_ ” With no malice, with no pressure, she implores of him: “ _please_?”

He looks out to Allura’s tapping fingers. He sees the bench she's sitting on, feels the balmy breeze swishing around her. He looks back down to his phone. He stills his bouncing leg.

“I guess… for you. I could do it.”

She claps faster than her words can tumble out. “ _Yay! I’m so happy! I think this will be good for you. Go, go do it!”_

He’s doing it, then. _Huff._

Lance squares his shoulders out, pushes his shoulders down. He ups his bravado. Lowers his finger.

Now they wait.

“This is crazy, Allura. Really really. What if she doesn’t even pick up?”

“ _Then you try again._ ”

Damn. She saw right through him. “She’s not even going to remember who I am.”

“ _Then you jog her memory a little bit! It’s not that difficult!_ ”

“Ugh.” She saw through him again. There really is no winning.

Interrupting Lance’s sardonic thoughts comes a kind voice, static through the speaker. “Hello?”

“ _Lance! Lance, it’s her! Say something._ ”

Oh God. Oh God she picked up. Oh God his palms are sweating. What does he say, what does he _say_? _GAH_. He wipes his palms up and down his thighs and is the suavest bastard these women have ever seen.

“H-hey, Plaxum. What’s going on?”

Weak. 

“Is this…”

_He didn’t even say his name, either! Moron!_

“Sorry, sorry. This is Lance. High school.”

From the other end of the line, Plaxum can’t suck in air fast enough. “ _Lance_? Is that you? Oh my gosh, dude! Ahh!” she squeals. The woman squeals. It's a positive noise. That’s unexpected. “Holy crap, it’s been so long! How are you? How are you, how are you? I was wondering when I would ever hear from you again. What gives?”

From the other end of Lance’s hearing, Allura whispers in his mind. “ _Looks like someone remembers. Aren’t you so thankful now you trusted me?_ ”

“ _Hush_ ,” he hisses back. He should respond to Plaxum too, shouldn’t he. “Yeah! Yeah I know it’s been a while. I’ve just been caught up with life. And… stuff.”

“I see,” Plaxum agrees.

“But yeah, hey. I uh, I was actually calling-“

“ _My goodness, Lance. Did you stutter this much when you were talking with me_?”

Ignore. “-I was kind of in a reminiscing mood a little earlier, scrolling through the Book of Faces, you know how it is.”

“I’m assuming you saw my most recent post on Facebook? About the Kentucky panel?”

Man, _everyone_ is seeing through him today! What is he, a mirror? 

Wait.

“Yeah, yeah I saw it.”

“I remembered how much you loved the ocean.” Plaxum muses. “I remember that very clearly.”

“Funny story, you’re never going to believe this. About the Kentucky panel. I’m actually in your neck of the woods.”

“No kidding,” she scoffs. “That’s nuts! How close are you? You thinking of coming?”

“ _It’s like a personal invitation! You can’t possibly pass this up._ ” Allura chimes in.

“I think I am. If- if you would like me to join you.”

“Yeah! Yeah that’d be great! I’m free until 1, so any time before that would work for me. If you want,” Plaxum suggests, “I can meet you at the aquarium? What do you think. We can catch up!”

“I can do that!” Lance can hella do that. “I mean, uh. Yeah. I’ll see if my schedule’s free and everything."

Plaxum giggles. _Lance has missed that._ “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, then. Call me when you’re close!” Rustling, rustling from her side of the line. “I have to let you go, but I’m glad you reached out. Man. Talking to Lance McLain again. Who would have ever thought?”

Not Lance.

“It has been too long. I won’t keep you, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Holy crow. He just talked with Plaxum. He held a full-fledged, Big Boy conversation and planned a full-fledged, Big Boy date with Plaxum. He’s feeling a little lightheaded.

“ _Look at you, Lance!_ ” His talking partner congratulates. “ _You’re seeing your first love tomorrow._ ” As always, she leans her voice heavy on the _first love_ part. “ _I can’t imagine your excitement._ ”

“Yeah.”

“ _Actually, yes I can. It’s quite a bit._ ”

Under their respective suns, they sit and smile and giggle and sigh as they mull over the recent transpiring. The sky couldn’t be any clearer. Lance’s nerves couldn’t be any more jittered. His elation couldn’t feel any higher. 

This day couldn’t get any better.

“ _Wait. Lance. Did you agree to see her tomorrow_?”

“Yeah?” Uh-oh. “Is that a problem?”

“ _Yes!_ ”

The day can’t go up, but it can sure come down right quick. 

“Why? What, what’s up?” Lance is frantic. What’s wrong now? Can’t he have this one, nice thing? One?

" _Lotor wanted me to Skype him tomorrow. I don’t know how long it’s going to be for, but we can be assured it won’t be a hasty affair._ ”

Oh. That’s it? Lance’s mood is exalted from its plummeting. “Have your Skype date with your boo, Allura. You’re not invited to Plaxum’s and my date, anyway. I’ve got this under control.”

“ _Under control_?” Allura doesn’t sputter, but she might as well have. “ _You didn’t even want to call this person until I told you to! I made you Lance, I’m not afraid to break you._ ” It’s an empty threat; her voice is too kind.

“You can't break me, Allura. And re- _lax_ , babe. I got this. I’m going to stride into that aquarium and the moment Plaxum sees me, she’s going to swoon.”

“ _Now_ that _I would pay to see._ ”

Lance, on the other hand. Lance sputters. “Okay, so maybe she won’t _swoon_ swoon, but she’ll think about it. She’ll be so impressed with my air of romance and my skill of charming, she’ll have no choice but to kiss me all over to purge her overwhelming emotion.”

Allura’s voice is dryly amused. “ _Cathartic kissing. This is the first I’ve heard of such a thing._ ”

“Well it won’t be the last.” Lance sniffs. “You’ll see. Try not to be overwhelmed with my romantic prowless, yourself. I’d hate for your Skype date to be ruined with Lotor’s suspicion of your heart eyes.”

Allura tucks her bottom lip in. She nods from the top of her head, rolling down to her shoulders. “ _I’ll try to keep my girlish whims under wraps from your prow-less. Yes._ ”

“Wait. Not prow-less. What did I say-“

“ _Well, I think I ought to follow in Plaxum’s suit._ ” She stands from her bench. “ _It is time for me to let you go. And, I think you have an aquarium date to prepare for_?”

Shoot. She’s right.

“I guess I do.” He looks down at his knees. These black, tattered jeans aren’t going to cut it, are they. “But what if I need-“

“ _You said you had this! Don’t let me down already._ ” She raises a finger. “ _And don’t you dare do anything goofy to mess up my call. I don’t need Lotor worrying more than he is._ ”

“Yeah, yeah yeah.” Lance holds up his hands. “You got it.”

“ _Promise. Promise me!_ ”

Hastily he agrees, “I promise! No goofs. Wasn’t planning on it.”

“ _Good. Now go get ready. I expect to hear how it goes, later._ ”

Allura closes the connection, leaving him to curl and uncurl his hands above his legs. He looks back down to his phone to see Plaxum’s smiling face glowing back up at him.

He’s totally got this.

A date with his high school crush. A date with a woman who he hasn’t seen for years now, but is assuming to hit right off again.

What’s the worst that could happen?


	7. Did he say hot date? He meant wet. Wet date

Lance doesn’t know what he was thinking. This date with Plaxum? He needs all the help he can get. 

He should have asked (begged) for Allura to have kept the connection open. Alas, it is not. As it is, she wouldn’t have been able to get a word in edgewise. Not between all his worrying. Not amidst all his fretting. Not for all the questions he’d want to ask her and the approval he’d be needing.

Pivoting towards the smudged motel mirror, he takes in his outfit. Button-down, check. Tasteful jeans, check. Hair appropriately coiffed. Check.

 _Or should I gel it back_? When he runs his hands over either side of his head, he tosses that idea right out the dingy hotel window. _If I gel it back, she sees all my piercings even more._

His mind plays devil’s advocate right back, accusing _That’s ever been a problem before_?

Damn. His mind is so right. He should be who he is. Hold nothing back. It’s Plaxum’s problem if she can’t handle it. Let his piercings all on display. While he’s at it, he should throw his bomber and leather pants back on, too. Let all his true colors shine through.

There’s his temperament coming to the quick, keeping everything in check. It says to him, _Let’s not get too crazy. You still have a little dignity left to your name._

Ugh. And he was so ready to switch out his jackets. Whatever. 

A little voice, quieter but more infinitely more insistent than the other two comes to Lance’s call. It scolds him. Cuts him at the knees. If it were personified, it would be rolling its eyes at Lance.

_This would be so much easier if you could talk to Allura._

It’s the only voice Lance bothers to quiet. 

The button-up, jeans, and coiffed hair are going to have to be enough. When he pulls out his phone for a quick time-check and sees he’s got-

“Only half an hour?! Holy _shi-_ “

-to snatch up his camera, wallet, and run to the nearest florist to pick something up for his date. 

His date.

His _date._

It’s only Plaxum. Breathe, Lance. It’s not like he hasn’t done this before. He knows to pick her up a single yellow carnation cause they remind her of the sun. For old times’ sake. He knew which cologne to spritz on, knows she hates tardiness, knows she likes _action_.

Even with all of this knowledge, none of it is going to satiate the buzz of his doubts. He can know every line that would work on her, but none of them would hush the what-ifs swimming and treading in his thoughts.

Lance is going for it anyway. 

He’s going to meet his old flame with his buttoned-down, nicely-jeaned, coiffed-hair glory and nothing is going to stop him. It will be enough. 

It’s going to have to be enough.

(Allura wasn’t there to tell him anything more.)

Plaxum date, here he comes. What does he have to lose?

 

—

 

Allura is very, very, so very concerned for Lance’s date. She has absolutely no right to be, but- actually. Yes she does. She’s going to be half as present as Lance is for his date, but she’ll be tuned in nonetheless.

Her concern for his date is helping to keep her concern off of the impending Skype call. 

She doesn’t know why she’s so worried. It’s not like she’s done anything wrong. So she had a spontaneous road trip; she told Lotor she would be back within a few days time, didn’t she?

A part of her wishes she could reach out and ask Lance to help breathe through her restlessness. It belittles her. _You know, you_ can _talk to Lance at any time. It is within your power_. 

While that is perfectly true, she wouldn’t dare do that. Not when she’s so close to her conversation. She can rely on rationalization and sound reasoning to help her through this.

_This is ridiculous! I’m just talking with Lotor! I have nothing to worry about._

Absolutely.

 _I have nothing to hide_.

Not absolutely.

If she could talk to Lance for even a second, just to get an encouraging word from him, she would.

(She can.) A voice lurking close to guilt stops her inclinations. _No need to pester him and psyche him out._ So she doesn’t. Instead, she paces back and forth in her suite while she waits. She bides her time standing up. Sitting down. Twiddling her thumbs. 

She fights her curiosity to peer to Lance’s side. She bats away her interruptive thoughts of _just ask the boy to help_ and _no, I couldn’t do that to him!_ and _it is within your power_. 

It’s just a silly call with Lotor. She will remember to stick as close to the truth as possible. 

She will remember her deep breathing exercises. 

What can possibly go wrong?

 

—

 

Lance has never been like. You know. Besties with the whole “waiting" thing. There’s too much nonsexual tension in the waiting for something to happen, and it’s so _pointless_. Let the tension be sexual, or let something be happening. Not this awkward, redundant, useless passing of time. 

The entrance for the aquarium is nice, though. The wide, clear windows are nice. Nice and clean. He likes the neon light. The blue is cool. Blue is always a good, solid color. The line isn’t too crazy yet, but he’s never liked the word “yet”. Everything is super dandy where he is. 

 _Oh God what if I’m stood up. I’ve already bought my ticket and everything._ He starts to pace around one of the lampposts. _I got dressed up and everything, too. This Goodwill shirt is going to go to waste, isn’t it._

Lance flicks his head down to look at his phone. 

_Shnoot!_

He forgot to text her, didn’t he. 

_I forgot to text Plaxum I’m here!_

Not a text. Not a call. Not a thing. Smooth, buddy. Real smooth.

His pacing double-folds.

 _What if Plaxum doesn’t even come. What if she only gets up today to go to her panel? What if I’ve missed my chance to see her? What if I never see her_ again.

It gets deep quick.

From the bottom of his peripheral, the tip of a shoe glints under the sunlight. _What’s that doing there?_ He follows the shoe up, leading his eyes to an ankle. Up this unknown’s person calf. Trailing up their trouser-clad thighs, over the tasteful blouse draping over their chest, following up farther still to the beginning of their twin blonde pigtails. 

Pigtails. He knew someone in high school that always had her hair in pigtails.

He finally meets the stranger’s eyes. It’s quickly dawning on him that these eyes are no stranger to him at all.

“Hello, Lance.”

Plaxum is as beautiful as the day he graduated. (When he let her go.)

“Plaxum.” Her eyes are still as deep and blue and beautiful as they were back then, too. What does he even say? 

“It’s been a while.”

Well definitely not that, for starters.

“Luckily for both of us, I remembered your penchant at being flustered with date-planning along with your love of aquatic life," she smirks.

“Yeah,” awkward chuckle, awkward chuckle. “Good thing.”

Plaxum carries right along. “So I figured that because you’ve never been much of an early bird, there was no way you were getting up any earlier than 10. That gave you an hour to get ready and dressed, and an extra 15 minutes or so for you to-“ she points at the flower he’s gripping behind his back, “pick that up for me.”

“O-oh. Right.” He slicks his hand through his hair. Flashes her a finger gun with his free hand. “For you, madame.”

“Why thank you good sir,” she plays along. 

Lance is so stunned, stupefied and bewildered that he can’t be bothered to think of any other lines. She plucks the carnation from his quivering hands. Slips it between the free space of her purse straps. Smiles back up to him.

“Some things never change.” Lance could have taken that one of many ways. “That's something I appreciate about you, Lance.” He takes it well. “And here I was. So worried I wouldn’t recognize you. How dumb was that.”

Everything about her is positive. She’s still just as bright as he remembered. Her voice still just as smooth. She is still just as good.

Maybe a little too good?

Almost too good to be true.

“Thanks for being smart enough for the both of us. I know I totally forgot to text back, I-“

“Really,” she shakes her hand. “It's not a big deal. I was looking forward to this as much as you.” She tilts her head towards the doors. “Wanna get going?”

Hell yes he does.

“Let’s.”

He offers his arm and walks them towards the entrance. Now that he doesn’t have his nausea to fight down,  he gets to fight the unsteadiness of his feet. Keeping himself in a straight line from the lamppost to the door trying to open it for her? That nonsense deserves a gold medal. 

Can Allura feel the shredding, bleeding overwhelming of his heart? Is his dry mouth and cottoned hearing screwing with her Skype call? 

He’s really hoping it isn’t.

(Shamefully, actually… he’s kind of hoping it is.)

 

—

 

Lotor’s light flicks on. He just came online. Allura accepts his call.

She’s tempted to seethe at Lance to remember his own breathing exercise if only for her sake. 

_His date can’t be going well if his resting heart beat is already so panicked._

Allura resists temptation.

The call begins.

“Allura darling," says Lotor. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes, Lotor.” Little wave. Shy smile. “I can hear you just fine. How nice it is to see your face again. You know I have been missing you, yes?”

“Oh, ‘Lura.’" Distant sigh. Expulsion of air. It feels too loaded and Allura isn't fond of it. “If you projected to miss me so much, you could have much more easily stayed home.”

The Ease. Yes, it would have been much easier to have stayed home, indeed. But Allura is tired of the ease. She’s tired and craving and willing. That’s why she made the drive in the drive in the first place. It’s why she hasn’t reverted and gone back home. The Ease is all too easy to slip back into.

“I could have, couldn’t I!” Fake laugh, fake laugh. “But this was something I felt like I needed to do. It's been so long since I’ve met my friend. I couldn’t think of putting this off any longer.”

Lotor hums. “This ‘friend’ must be very important to you, then.”

It’s not a question.

Allura acquiesces. “Yes. You could say that.”

Lotor is silent. He’s silent for a moment. The moment stretches. It stretches so far, it's silent so long, Allura considers refreshing the page to see if he’s glitched. Or maybe it was her. One can never trust the stability of hotel wifi- you know how it is.

Lotor finally snaps the stretching band of silence, commending her. “Then I trust your judgement.”

“Oh?” 

“Yes. Quite.” Lotor waits for the screen’s lag to catch up with his nod. “I trust you with this. If this friend of yours is so important to leave home for, miss my luncheon for, than that’s fine. I trust you know what you’re doing.” His smile has an aftertaste of something Allura can’t place. “He must be awfully important.”

“I am so relieved to hear you say that, Lotor” the woman sighs. “I was afraid you were going to be angry with me, or tell me to come back immediately. I don’t think I could have handled either.”

Lotor smiles big. Big and wide. Wide and big. “Nonsense, ‘Lura. You are not tethered to me, good Heavens. As a matter of fact, I think this little road trip of yours could be good for you. Get you out of the house. Get your wiggles out. Explore little nooks and boutiques.” Allura’s sigh is infectious, apparently, when he says “I just wish you would have brought me, too.”

“I wanted to! I wanted to very much, Lotor!”

His question is not unexpected, but no less shocking. “Then why didn’t you?”

Allura is nothing, if not prepared. “This was a trip that I had to do alone. I hope you understand. Please forgive me, darling.”

Her boyfriend’s smile is softer, now. “Of course, my sweets. I already said you were.”

“I’m glad.”

_Very, very glad._

**_Clap_** _-_  

“I know!”

“What is it, Lotor?”

Divinely touched is he, with marvelous epiphany. “Why don’t you show me of all the places you have been so far? If I cannot be with you, I wish to see what all you have been up to. You’ve taken many photos, I assume?”

“So many photos, you wouldn’t believe. Here, wait.” She scampers over to her suitcase. Pulls out her camera. “I’ll show them to you. How about that?”

“Very good.”

Very good, then.

Great!

_Great._

Lotor isn't angry with Allura at all. His tone doesn’t clip, his voice doesn’t tense. She still watches her guard lest she let something slip, but for now, she scrolls through all her new recent photos. She shows Lotor picture after picture of tan landscapes with swift kisses of green. Pictures of the consumption where blue meets blue, where the shore meets the sky. All the while, Lotor is happy for her.

All the while, Allura keeps her smile contained. Under wraps. Inconspicuous. It’s hard when every photo is accompanied by a snarky comment from Lance that made her laugh. Harder when she remembers the shores and skies and sprouting, weeding green from his side. She has to remember to stay on her own side.

Her own side isn’t as humid, isn’t as hot. Somehow, it doesn't seem as full. The green isn't as rich. Her skies aren't as wide. 

Allura’s side is… missing something.

Lance's side, on the other hand.

Lance’s side.

Lance’s _date!_

Okay, okay, so Allura knows she wasn’t “invited” and not explicitly “welcome” to join Lance’s reunion, but this temptation is just too strong.

Lotor can give her just a few moments to see if Lance isn’t making a train-wreck of himself. He’ll be good enough to wait. Surely.

“They’re all beautiful, ‘Lura. Something I’ll look forward to seeing when you come home.”

_Coming home. Yes. Right._

Just because she didn’t turn around earlier doesn't mean she can keep driving with no end. She doesn’t know how such a little but big thing keeps escaping her.

“I look forward to showing them to you.” _The date the date the date,_ is far more pressing. She can deal with real responsibilities later. “For now, Lotor… can you. Can you give me just a brief moment? I won't be too long, I-“ _need to_? “-use the ladies' room. So sorry. I’ll be quick.” 

The bathroom? There are worse excuses.

“Hurry back then. I still have more I want to hear about your travels.”

She’s nearly bouncing out of her seat when she waves her fingers to her boyfriend. “Of course! Of course.”

She bounces, hops and skips to the bathroom. She crams herself in the farthest corner from her laptop. She takes a deep, deep breath.

Feeling around Lance’s consciousness, she opens their connection. Affirms the bond. She likes what she sees.

 

—

 

If Allura is liking what she sees through Lance, the man himself is _overcome_. Around him, above him, in front of him is nothing but sparkling _blue_. There's so much blue. There’s so much movement. There’s so much _life_ and he can’t think about it too long. 

There's so much beauty he wants to cry. He’s so glad Plaxum gets the feel.

“So hey, Lance. I hate to break your tender moment with the penguins there,” she gives them a little wave. “But I have something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

For the past 40 minutes or so, (maybe more? Lance doesn’t even want to keep time) he and Plaxum have been wandering and meandering around the Newport Aquarium chatting with creatures behind enclosures. Petting his _new best friends, are_ you _seeing this Plaxum?_ in tank after tank. Lance’s hand is going to start going pruny with all the ray-petting he’s been doing. His nose is going to be broken by the end of their trip with all his face-to-glass pressing.

Plaxum is more than content to stay back and let him dwell in his eye shining. His gentle, indiscernible glass-tapping is adorable! If she gets to see more of his goofy, embarrassing kissy-faces then taking the back seat isn’t a move of resignation. It’s the best view in the house.

All throughout the museum tour, Plaxum has pointed out her favorite exhibits to Lance. The insider commentary is _gold._ He doesn’t know why he didn’t call this girl before. (Yes he does. He absolutely does.) At some of the demonstrations, she’ll talk over the speaker with the headset and give her own spicy details. She knows most of these animals by name.

It’s blowing Lance’s mind.

He’s constantly, _constantly_ reminding himself that he came here to be with his date. Not to gawk at the sealife. 

_But all the penguinnss, thooough._

Plaxum comes up to his right, flicking her gaze between him and the waddling, tuxedo bodies. His attention is so fixed, so undecided so unbelievably _intense_ , he only gets the tail end of her saying “meaning to ask you.”

Lance doesn't think much of it. “Yeah, Plaxum. What’s up.”

“I’d hate if I’m jumping into too personal stuff, but. I was curious.” His eyes are glued to the glass. Her eyes are glued to his. “What happened to you after we graduated?”

That breaks his stare right quick.

“How do you mean?”

“Oh just that,” she shrugs. “It's like we said goodbye, and… we didn't say anything after that again. I actually thought,” she looks away. Lowers her voice. “I thought we were never going to talk again. I had all these ideas and predictions of where you went. What you were doing. What happened to you.”

“Uh-huh.” 

Lance is dumbfounded.

“And then, out of _nowhere_ , you called me! It was probably the happiest call I could have gotten… gosh. At least all year? It was so unexpected.”

Lance is in over his head.

Plaxum keeps right on going. “And I know a lot of time has passed, but I was so, so hoping that you would still be the same person I-“ she sucks in her bottom lip. “Yeah. Anyway.” She shakes out her head. “I still feel like I know you. And this has been good.”

“This?”

“This-” she gestures to the glass around her. The air pressing over her. Her friend beside her. “-being today. The call yesterday. I really missed you, Lance!”

“I did too.” He says without pause.

He did. He really did. He believes in young love, true love. Love at first sight. He’ll take love where he can get it. If this little school crush wants to turn into something bigger, than. Who is he to deny?

“Still…” Plaxum’s voice lifts up. It’s more floaty. More breathy. More like a sigh. “There’s something about you that’s very different, too. You’re you. But also _not_ you. Does that make sense?”

“I-“ He scuffs his shoes. He’s trying to chew on her words. Now, they’re being chewed, they’re being swallowed. Are they being digested? “I don’t think it does,” he laughs. 

Maybe a glass of her voice to settle his unsettledness. “It’s not all that important. I think it means you’ve grown.”

Plaxum _bellows._

“My God!” Her snorting is a very near thing. “What am I? Your mom? ‘It means you’ve grown’, geez. Don’t listen to me. That was terrible, I know it was.”

“Oh man. Man, that was,” he’s getting over his own gut-punching laughter. “That was appropriately awful."

“Gee thanks. I love being under the level of inappropriate awfulness. Let me know if I get too close to the edge.”

For a second, Lance’s mind scoots itself into his reality, but slightly to the left.

It's surreal.

_How could I have forgotten how easy it was to be with her?_

There is a reason Plaxum was the First Love, buddy.

She cuts into is out of body existentialism to tug on his arm. “We still have the rest of this place to walk through. Wanna keep going?”

“I can keep going all day if you’re with me,” he whips out. “I- I mean. Wait. I didn’t mean-“

The lady’s laugh is not as chaotic, but no less full. She’s still trying to wipe her tears from her first outburst.

"The terrible flirting makes its comeback! A mighty revival, Lance. We’ll just have to go back and forth filling up the Awful Quota the rest of the day.”

He shakes out his hair. Frazzles his head. Right. He’s not talking with a taken woman right now. He can flirt as much and as badly as he wants. (Or at least until Plaxum tells him to stop.)

Right.

Plaxum grabs his hand and leads them down another hallway. Every step they take leads them someplace darker. 

His sneaky eyebrow is a bastard that cannot be tamed. 

He likes this new direction.

With Plaxum holding his hand, the dark wrapping him in salty-aired belonging and their steps leading them somewhere brighter, bustling and immersive, something pushes against his senses.

Lance figured Allura would try to drop in earlier. He awaits her eloquent greeting.

“ _How is it going,_ ” she whispers from a dark corner. 

Ahh. There we go.

He tries to keep his voice down low so he doesn’t raise any brows. “It’s going fine.” He keeps his voice just under the hum of the vents, the swish of the tanks. “I already told you I was doing this date thing solo. Butt out.”

“ _You know I get worried. Also curious. Speaking of which, have you been taking photos?_ ” She notices his lack of weight against his chest. “ _Your camera! Where is your camera!_ ”

“I left it at home,” he coughs. He’s gotta save face somehow. Plaxum is looking at him more than the way ahead of him. Normally he’d be all about it but.. He doesn’t think it’s a good kind of looking. 

“ _What! Now how am I supposed to look at the stingrays you promised?_ ” Allura’s pout is audible, tangible and _adorable_.

“I never promised any stingrays, babe” he singsongs. 

Plaxum giggles. “You never what?”

 _No, no, no, nopeity nope, no,_ nooo- “I, I was just saying,” _quick! BS an excuse!_ “I never promised any of the stingrays I would come back.” Ugh. “I’m a one-time deal, you know.” Weak. “You see me, then I’m gone. Gotta savor the moment while it lasts. It hurts me that I have to hurt the stingrays, but. What can you do?”

Plaxum buys it. For now. “I think they’ll manage to forgive you. Besides, I think where we’re heading is going to heal the hurt real quick.”

“Pffft. Doubtful.” 

He’s still snorting when she tugs on his hand one last time. Then, all of a sudden, she stops.

Allura’s vision and voice are still trying to push through. 

_There’s a reason I didn’t invite her in the first place!_

“I think you’re going to like this.” Oh boy. Plaxum’s got that sexy lilt and everything. 

Lance looks to both sides of the tunnel they’re facing. He’s not finding anything of great import, here.

Bless Allura for her gratuitous guidance. “ _Look up, silly one_!”

“Look up?”

“What was that?”

Belatedly, Lance looks up. “Oh my _holy crow._ ” He looks around. “No way.”

“Hold onto yourself, Lance.”

“ _No._ ” Allura gasps. “ _Is that-_ “

“The shark tunnel.”

Plaxum corrects. “Actually, they call it the Shark Bridge. ‘Tunnel’ works equally well, I’ll give you that.”

Allura is in even parts regretful and wistful. “ _I wish to be where you are, Lance._ ”

Wait. What?

“What?”

Lance’s date looks back to him again. “What?”

These looks are getting less and less assured, so he turns around to answer Allura. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a call?”

“ _Yes, yes I am. I just wanted to stop in to catch in on your progress. It sounds like it’s going_ swimmingly _, so I’ll give you space._ ”

Then she breaks off.

“Did… did you just?”

More Looks. “Did I just what, Lance? You’ve been muttering to yourself a lot. You okay?”

“O-oh. Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Please lead on.” He loops her arm with his. “Let us continue on my fair, gentle companion.”

“Very well.”

 

—

 

She scurries out of the bathroom. Flushes the toilet. _What a waste, what a waste of water_ -, runs the sink for a few seconds and bounds out of her corner to flop back on the bed. Lotor’s face remains to greet her just as even and patient as it was when she left.

Just as stoic.

“Allura. How nice of you to join me again. I was starting to worry you had fallen in,” he snickers.

 _I couldn’t have spent that long? Could I have?_ “Sorry, Lotor. I know how much you hate wasting time.”

“Yes I do. Which is why you’re going to tell me about your travels, and then I must sign off quickly. These depositions aren’t going to look over themselves. Acxa has been getting testier with me, so I don't want to push her patience any more than I have to. You understand.”

“I would hate for Axca to lose her patience with you. She’s such a strong asset to your team.” She tries her hardest to meet Lotor’s eyes though the screen. “I’ll try to make my stories quick. Where did I leave off?”

Back and forth they go; Allura showing photo after photo to Lotor, him asking question after question about her travels. She’s liking this having someone new to share her trip with. She gets to relive her journey, certain moments, all over again. From her memory to her mouth, to Lotor’s ears. 

Every smile he flashes her gives her the next boost to keep going. A little laugh, and he’s spurred to add a little more flair. It’s positive reinforcement. It’s approval.

It’s what she’s been craving this whole time.

The time flies right by. Even still, she can feel every minute peel right off her. Her attention is begging to reach out to see beyond. 

She opens the connection and is _blasted_ with euphoria. 

It’s the damn sharks, isn’t it.

 

—

 

“This is the best day of my life, hands down. Nothing will ever beat this. I am in bliss. I’m like, euphoric or something. Maybe I’m high. Wouldn’t put it past me.”

“Lance!” Plaxum’s arm smack brings him back down. Settles him down.

“Right. Right, sorry. Not in front of the kids.” He awkwardly nods to apprehensive mothers. “But for real,” he spins spins spins in place. Watches the dancing fins and tails flow all around him. Except for in front and behind him, all kinds of silver and grey and yellow and blue and _color_ float everywhere he can see. “This is amazing.” It’s all frantic, languid movement. Erratic, smooth exchange. It’s beautiful.

It would be better if Allura were there with him.

_Whoa, whoa whoa. Try the fact that I already have a beautiful woman standing right next to him? An attempt was made, so gold star._

“I chose right, didn’t I? Sharks were like, your whole world.” She spurts a laugh. “Ha! I- I remember. Didn’t you try to start a shark club like, freshman year?”

Not for all the embarrassment it’s going to cause him, he didn’t. “Nope. Don’t remember. Wasn’t me. Didn’t happen.”

“Sorry. Sorry,” she says, not even looking at him. “Must have gotten you mixed up.”

Between the soft laughter, the distracting shark tunnel and the soft atmosphere of the day, it’s easy for Lance to get lost in the moment. He’s thinking back on little tendrils of conversations he and Plaxum have had, but. nothing has felt _wrong_. Them meeting together has been feeling so natural.

There’s nothing that puts Lance more on edge than too many rights _before_ a wrong.

“I have some exciting news,” says Plaxum. Both she and Lance’s eyes are shackled to the swaying shark before them. They wait for it to pass overhead before she breaches the silence again. “I think you’re really going to like this.”

"Well you know, Plaxum. I like a lot of things,” the man winks. 

“Cute. But no, this is different. I think you’re going to like it so much, you might be jealous.”

“Jealous?” Now he’s interested. “Why’s that.”

“This panel I’m going to? It’s all about sharks.” She pulls out her phone. _tap tap tap tap_. “My colleges and I have been doing migration research about them mostly, but we also followed breeding and feeding paths.”

He snatches the phone from her hand, scrolling up and down to sear the pictures, research and diagram into his eyelids.

“That is _so cool_.” Nothing is sticking to his memory, but the big marine biology words impress him, so that’s something.

“I thought so, too. We’re really trying to make shark safety and disillusion a big part of our mission.” She kindly explains over his aimless scrolling.

The two let children and families pass by as they stand dead-center in the tunnel. They pay no mind. 

“So misunderstood.” Lance shakes his head. “ _Pobrecitos._ ”

“Definitely.” She stops his finger when he passes on particular picture. “Putting up the magnetic fields were a bit tricky, not to mention unnecessarily time-consuming, but-“

“Wait.”

 

—

 

Lance’s euphoria plummets. Where did it go?

“What happened?” 

She hopes he can hear her through his troubling, mudding feelings.

“‘Lura? Did you say something?” 

Lotor blinks. Allura blinks back. 

Teeny head shake. “No. I didn’t say anything.” Teeny upturned smile.

“Oh. I thought you had. Excuse me.” He moves on, pointing back to her camera. “Any more? I hope not too many, I have to start looking at letting go of you soon.”

She looks up at his face then down to her camera display. There are at least 50 photos left to scroll through, all with anecdotes of their own.

She looks back up to him.

"Only just a few, darling. Not to worry. I don’t want to keep you too long.”

“Well then.” He nods again towards her device, more insistently. “Please carry on. Time is of the essence.”

“Of course. Now let’s see. Here-“

She’s staring to feel something building in Lance’s' chest. It’s slithering its way down into his stomach, out to his hands. It’s fizzling, bubbling and overflowing. It’s putting a fissure to her temper.

 _What is going on_?

 

—

 

“Magnetic fields? Seriously?”

Plaxum tilts her chin. Turns her body. Slips her phone back in her pocket. “Seriously. Magnetic fields.” She raises her eyes to challenge Lance’s. “What’s wrong.”

“‘What’s _wrong_?’” Lance raises his hands. “What’s wrong is the use of the magnetic fields in the first place. We shouldn’t be using them. _You_ ,” he accuses “shouldn’t be using them.”

“I’m sorry that using a shark’s senses to their and our advantage was such a federal crime. I’m still failing to see the issue.”

There's another lilt to the woman’s voice, now. It’s decidedly unsexy.

“You really don’t see the issue?” Lance is prepared to throw down. “Those things are so wrong. They’re… what would you call them.” He snaps. “Unethical. That’s what’s up.”

She’s decidedly unamused, too. “Unethical. Really.”

“Yes!” He windmills his arms out to point to all the sleek sharks swimming about. “Sharks are already so sensitive! You don’t even have to smack their nose to disable them. Just rub ‘em a little.” There’s a joke in there, somewhere. _Not the time_. “They’re already attuned to Earth’s magnetic fields. Why are we going to mess that up? Who are we to put that into motion? Why are we going to put even more crap into the ocean that doesn’t belong?”

“I see how it is.” Uh-oh. It’s getting real. “For right now, please remind me who has the actual degree in marine biology?” Plaxum waits only a hot second. “Right. That’s what I thought. Why is this such a big deal to you? You don’t think that a team of people that are older than me, with more certifications and qualifications than me, would know what they’re doing?”

They’re starting to get looks from passer-bys. Good. Lance can deal with an audience once he’s not under the pressure of a needle point. 

“ _Lance. Whatever you’re arguing about, let it go. Do you want to be happy or do you want to be right._ ”

Looks like the audience has one more member.

“I’ll be happy once I’m right!”

Plaxum snaps her head over to him. “Who _are_ you talking to?”

—

 

“Allura? Who is Lance?”

She said that out loud. Of course she did. She had to for Lance to hear.

“He um.” She hates having to conceive all of these lies. “He’s the friend I’m meeting. Many apologies, darling. I must have zoned out and thought of something he did.”

“I would say.” Lotor’s expression is thin. Calculated.

“So sorry,” Allura huffs. “Sorry. That’s the last of the photos, though. I know you have to get going so-“

_ring ring. ring ring._

“My dearest, I hate to interrupt.” Lotor stands, moving his way to the other edge of his desk. “Let me check how this is momentarily. I would hate to miss something important.”

“No, go ahead."

Allura waits for him to check his phone and get back to her. He swipes his thumb from left to right. He mouths “sorry” at her.

“Axca. I know how you hate to be kept waititing.”

Mixing business with pleasure? A risky move, Lotor. 

Holding a hand over the receiver, he turns to face Allura again. He keeps his voice down low. “Let me say a word to placate her, than I’ll properly say goodbye.” His hand lifts again. “Yes. Yes I’m just chatting with Allura right now. I shan’t be held up much longer.”

Lance, in most fortuitous timing, bleeds his voice and ichor to her side. “ _I’m- I’m talking to myself. Whatever. The point is that what you’re doing is wrong and bad and I feel bad for the poor sharks._ ”

She can hear Plaxum’s voice raising, too. “ _What would you like me to do, Lance? Hop on the next flight to Australia and untag all the sharks we’ve been following? Pull all the magnets out? You were all for this research not 5 seconds ago_.”

Lotor’s voice lifts one plane above them. “Yes, Acxa. The depositions are sitting in front of me.”

Lotor’s distracted right now. He wouldn’t mind or notice too much if Allura tried to give Lance her 2 cents. 

Yeah?

“Lance,” she murmurs. “Just let her win.”

 

—

 

Just let Plaxum win? Lance doesn't think so. Not when she’s so blatantly wrong.

“Yeah, I was into the research before I realized you were hurting sharks and polluting the damn ocean.”

“Hurting sharks and polluting the ocean. You really, honestly believe that.” Plaxum turns father away. Steps back. “I don’t know if I should be angry with you or feel sad for you. Do you actually have any idea what you’re talking about? Or would you like me to pull up my 20 page report for you again.”

“No, thanks.” Lance turns up his nose. “I’ve seen enough.”

“Obviously not since you keep arguing this. I don’t know how to make you see how _wrong_ you are.” The woman counters. 

“Funny. I was just about to say the same thing.”

“ _Lance_.” Another voice hisses.

“Not _now_ , Allura.”

Plaxum’s air punches out from her gut. “Oh my God, Lance. Who is Allura? Who are you talking to?”

 

—

 

She knows she shouldn’t be interfering and she knows Lance is a big boy and she knows he can handle this himself, but Allura needs him to handle it faster.

“Darling.” Lotor’s taking notice, too. “You keep saying that name. This friend of yours. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes! Did I zone out again?” Coyly, sweetly she puts a hand to her chest. “Don’t let me interrupt you and Acxa,” she points to her boyfriend’s phone.

Lance needs to wrap up his little spat with Plaxum before any more parties enter the conversation. (It’s bad enough that half the participants are unwittingly present.)

Allura doesn’t think it’s going to happen any time soon. Tempers are only rising and rising; their voices are only heating and heating.

“ _Not important_ ,” Lance waves off Plaxum’s question. “ _Dammit._ ” He literally, legitimately stomps his foot. “ _I lost my place._ ”

“ _Here, let me find it for you_.” Plaxum supplies. “ _We were just on the topic of my ‘wrongness’, and your innate need to say something about everything that comes into your life. How you can never let anything go without your input_.”

“ _That’s adorable. Coming from the literal_ conspiracy _theorist of our grade. I remembered that, too._ ”

The woman can take it. She can also dish it. “ _How convenient you remember that now. Was I ever wrong back in school, though?_ ”

A completely rhetorical question, even Allura knows it. She turns her head to the left, urging Lance. “Just let the woman win. Let her win and be done with it.”

It’s his turn to seethe back at her. “ _No. Not until I make my point._ ”

“Your point has already been made!” 

Lotor holds his hand to his phone. “Mine?”

The vines of this conversation are only tangling and knotting the more they speak. Allura can feel it. 

“No, darling.”

She hopes she can crawl out of this thicket without major bleeding.

 

—

 

The _point_? Does Allura even know the point Lance was trying to make? Obviously not, if she’s going to make snide comments like that.

“Well it’s good we’re not still in high school. It doesn’t matter if you were right or wrong then, cause you’re wrong _now_.”

Plaxum isn’t having any of it. “You’re not even listening. I can’t- I can’t believe I forgot that little tidbit about you, too.”

Lance crosses his arms. _What now?_ “And what would that be?"

“How _petulant_ you are!” she spits. “I was absolutely right.” Her eyes are zeroed in on Lance and Lance alone. “Some things really do never change.”

 

 

—

 

“It didn’t have to come to this. It really didn’t.”

“Acxa,” Lotor has lifted his hand from his phone, again. He almost presses the end call button. “I need to answer you at a later time.”

Allura has forgotten entirely the other half of her conversation. The present, visible, actual conversation. 

_Presence, visibility and actuality are losing their impact._

She knows what she means.

She wishes Lance does, too.

 

—

 

“Petulant!” Lance wails. “That’s rich. At least I don’t have to make myself into some ‘justice-fighting’, hypocritical, know-it-all-“

_SMACK_

 

_—_

 

Not again.

 

—

 

“ _Augh_! What the cheese, Plaxum?” He holds his face in hand. The déjà vu is all too real. All too sick. “What the hell was that for?”

Under the blue lights of the tunnel, surrounded by the hushed voices of stunned tourists, all is still. 

Plaxum’s can be parsed enough away from the way it weaves itself into the hush. 

“Enough.” She pivots around her, locking eyes with every peering, lingering, gawking person. They duck their heads and shuffle along. Ignorance is bliss, ignorance is bliss their awkward movements say. 

“I really thought that our meeting together would be a good idea,” the woman says ruefully. “I suddenly remember why I have to let sleeping dogs lie. Why we decided to let each other go in the first place.”

Like hell Lance is going to concede any more of his pride than he’s already let slip away. “Um, I think I was the one to call the shots there.”

Her gaze is condemning and convicting. “Don’t.” She turns around. “I know this date was too good to be true.” Slides the sword to its hilt. “This was never going to work out.”

_Oh God._

 

—

 

Explaining another strike across the cheek is not something Allura is looking forward to.

“Allura!” Frantically, Lotor ends the call with Acxa. He looks through his camera, trying to find a glimpse of where his lover was jostled. “Allura! Are you there?”

She matches the pads of her fingertips to where Lance’s are echoing. She rubs at her cheek, down her neck. She sits back up on the bed. 

“I’m here, Lotor. I don’t know what came over me, I-“

“Now.” His laugh is ever so low. So very whimsical. “Don’t tell me I need to cancel on my client.”

Irate, untamed, _red_ , Lance’s voice snarls out. “ _Butt out, Lotor_.”

_Oh God._

 

—

 

Plaxum looks over her shoulder. She rakes her eyes over Lance and he is… He is a mess.

“Lance.” Switches her eyes up and down him once more for good measure. “You’re not okay.” She swallows. “I need to go.”

If the exhibits all cracked and shattered, it would make no difference to Lance. If all the water flooded out and took him with it, it would make no difference to him. If it were Lotor himself that struck him across the face, it would the least difference of all.

Lance wouldn’t have cared if all the people staring, gawking and looking at him all laughed there asses off.

It wouldn't matter.

None of it matters.

He messed up.

He breathes in. He lets it out.

 _Oh God what have I done_?

 

—

 

“Lotor… I.” She sits for a moment to collect her breath. “I need to go.” Then promptly disconnects their call.

  She runs back to the bathroom and crams herself in her favorite corner. The connection to Lance she tears wide open.

“Why didn’t you listen to me? Why did you let things keep escalating?”

Judging by the tiles at Lance’s feet and the paper towel dispensers, he must be in a bathroom too. 

“ _Listen to you? For the love of Paul, no one is listening to_ me!”

Here we go.

“ _Didn’t I say you weren’t invited anyway? I think I was handling things pretty well._ ”

“Handling things!” Allura would laugh harder but she still needs to be coherent for this conversation. “You were fanning the flames!”

“ _Fanning the-_ “ Lance blunders. “ _They would have been doused! Eventually_!”

“Eventually! You would have needed to pass through another 3 exhibits for your ‘eventually’ to be reached! What with your freedom-fighting flame, there.”

“You got a problem with my date? I thought this was your idea in the first place!” Lance locks himself in a stall. It stops his dizzying pacing, so that's good.

“Oh. Excuse me.” The woman stands to take his place with restless walking, it seems. “Why not go ahead and take all of your high school loves to the aquarium then. I really won’t be there next time. I’ll sit here. In my room. By myself.”

Lance pauses. “ _Wait_. Wait. _Are you…_ ” He can’t even bring himself to say the word. “ _Are you jealous_?”

“ _Jealous_?” 

That’s a real rip-snorter right there. 

“No! Naturally not! That’s preposterous.”

“ _If it’s so preposterous then why don’t you go back to your call with your boyfriend? I’m sure he'd be missing you if you were gone this long._ ”

Allura thinks back to the empty screen waiting on the bed. “There’s no more call, Lance.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“There’s no call anymore.” Deep inhale. “It’s over.”

Lance looks up from the treads he’s been burning under his shoes. “ _‘It’s over’. It’s over, what’s over. What do you mean it’s over_.”

“I mean it’s over, Lance. It’s finished. I ended the call with him.” Her breath shudders out from her. “I think he knows something’s wrong.”

Her eyes are swelling. 

“ _Allura, are you-_ “

Yes. She is.

“No. I’m not.”

She runs her arm under her nose. Drags a finger up the corners of her eyes. 

“ _Allura, I didn’t mean-_ “

“I have to go, Lance. I-“ she rubs at her arms. Backs away from her corner. “I have to go. I’ll talk with you later.”

She solders the connection shut as fast as she opened it. 

There’s a long night ahead of her, she knows.

 

—

 

Lance doesn’t want to think at how bad he screwed this particular pooch. Not only with Plaxum but with the date as a whole. The aquarium itself. _Allura_ , herself. He wonders how long it’s going to take for her to forgive him.

He wants to think he can’t believe he let his temper get the best of him. Again.

There’s no energy left in him that’s going to take him anywhere other than his motel. He doesn't want to go out photographing. There’s nothing else in Kentucky he had business doing. Dragging himself out of the bathroom, out of the busy aquarium, out under the high noon sun- all he wants to do is go back home.

 _Home is where the heart is_.

Right now, the only place his heart wants to be is pumping over a soft, downy mattress. Right now? The only place his heart wants to find home in is a person. 

He’ll let sleep take him far away from those thoughts.

 

—

 

The night isn’t long enough to let Allura escape the phone call she gets from Lotor. She answers immediately.

(If only to put the evening out of its misery.)

“Lotor?”

“Allura! Do you know how embarrassing that was! You do recall I was trying to talk with Acxa, yes?”

She supposes they’re getting right to business, then.

“Yes, Lotor. I-“ she picks at a nonexistent thread on her comforter.

“She is a vital asset to my team. Everyone at the firm is! Your… outburst could not have waited?”

“I don’t plan for them to happen, Lotor!”

Her thread-pulling is more insistent. If her phone had a cord, she’d be twirling it. As it is, her free hand is tangling in knots in her wily hair.

Lotor’s voice descends over her mind static. “These little outbursts you have, they’re… they’re very distracting. I’m worrying about you." Allura’s worried for herself. “I can’t have Acxa worrying about you, too. Heavens, I can’t have the whole firm involved. It’s bad enough I had to cut Acxa off in the first place. Imagine her confusion, too! I need to be giving my full attention to this case. My client, my colleges, my firm; they must take precedence.”

All Allura can do is nod.

“This means too much to me. The division of my attention, I cannot afford.” 

 _Nod nod nod_.

He sighs, _looonng_ and deep. “You’ll forgive me, won’t you.

No. She has found her words again. “Forgive you? Whatever for?”

“For not being there to help you.” The line is silent for a tick. “For not being there to talk you out of what ever is… ailing you.” And another tick. “There is something I have noticed.”

“What have you noticed?”

_Hopefully it wasn’t the shaking of my voice._

“This problem, these problems have only started since this road trip of yours.” Like a thought that just so happened to come to him, he muses. Shares. “Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea of yours.”

“What are you saying, Lotor?”

“I’m saying,” something _whuffs_ from his side. He must have slinked into his Chair. “Maybe it's time to come home.”

 _Time to come home? But I’ve already come so far!_ She shakes her head from where she’s sitting, reminding herself to be thankful for many reasons that  Lotor can’t see her. _I still have to meet Lance! There’s still so much I wanted to see. I can’t, I can’t-_

“Not yet, Lotor.”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet.” Why? “I-“ Ah, yes. The answer is so obvious. “I haven’t met my friend, yet. He took a short detour, but it shouldn’t have added too much time on his end. If you’re still concerned for the luncheon, don’t be. I know how important first impressions are to you.”

“You know I can’t be without my better half.”

 _Better half._ That’s sweet.

“I’ll be there.”

“Be sure to be safe, darling.” _Rustle. Rustle._ He’s settling in. “This episode of yours today… I truly hope it was the last. I want to you get better. I don’t want to see you getting hurt by your being overwhelmed. I know how sensitive you are to things.” Fabric brushing and moving. He must be loosening his tie. Taking off his cufflinks. “I don't want to see you getting hurt. Something is happening to you, Allura. I saw it. I saw it with my own two eyes and I don’t know what could be out there to cause such behavior but.” He lets his tie rest around his shoulders. “But be safe.”

“This ‘behavior’ is not completely arbitrary, Lotor.” She wraps her hands around her phone. Clutches it tight. “I think this has been in the making for a long time. It’s only now that it’s coming to light.” Her voice lifts and thins to something cooler and atmospheric. Only a whisper dares to escape her. “I feel like the new has come and the old is passing away.” She relinquishes her grip but a _touch._ “More like… I’m being exhumed.”

“Exhumed. Shall I start looking for you in cemeteries, then? Am I too late?”

“No, Lotor. Please. No.”

The silk of Lotor’s tie slips against his shirt. His course exhale is harsh against Allura’s speaker, but not as harsh as his melancholic honesty.

“Oh Allura. Allura, darling. You know how much I miss you.”

“I do, Lotor. I do.”

Something else sparks in his voice. “Or. Perhaps not. I don’t think you do.”

“Oh no?”

“No.” 

 _No_ , he all but purrs. 

“I- I see.”

“I miss having you to hold, Allura.” The leather of Lotor’s chair squeaks against his further shifting. He could either be moving farther back or leaning his elbows on his knees. “I miss having you here with me.”

“It’s only just a little more. I promise. Just a bit longer.”

“I miss having you to touch.”

Leaning farther back it is.

“You can’t really miss me that much-“ she airily laughs.

“-But I can. And I do. Holding your arms against mine, coming home with you to embrace. Home isn’t the same without you here.” His voice doesn’t drop, but _dive_. “And I need you now.”

“Yes, Lotor.”

They’ve never done this before, but she can’t say she’s never been curious. She doesn’t see why she can’t get herself comfortable, too. She moves herself back to the headboard, fluffs the pillows beside her. Then will come Lotor’s next command.

“I miss having you beneath me,”

Allura closes her eyes, gasping with the memory of his hands trailing her arms. The immensity of his weight over hers.

“I miss the taste of you.”

The feeling of his breath on her chest. Up her neck. Right in her ears.

“I miss your warmth, Allura.” She gets lost in the way he _says_ her _name_ , “You are so warm everywhere. There’s not a single place about you that I can resist keeping my hands. Or my eyes.”

“Lotor…”

“I miss the way you move."

She stays with him. She feels bad for making him do all the talking, _but talking was always his specialty, yes_? 

He stays with her until she’s finished. She returns the favor, and they both remain on the line for them to catch their breaths. 

The suite’s blinds are closed, but the evening darkness is ever creeping and spilling into her room. It makes her tuck herself tighter in the comforters (that she’s now thoroughly soiled.)

The night is black. Her body is gold.

Lotor’s voice is liquid.

“Good night, my love.”

Allura’s voice is an afterthought. “Good night, darling.”

No other words need be said. He ends the call, she turns over in bed. When she turns out the light she is finished for the night.

That’s it.

Or so she thought. It was a sweet, adorable thought, too. The fickle mistress of sleep doesn’t appreciate adorable, however. She appreciates very little. This evening, she is not choosing to appreciate Allura.

She twists the light back on. She sits herself back up. She counts herself no sheep, sings herself no lullaby.

In a last attempt to appease the cruel night goddess, Allura abides and abets her curiosity. Her hope. Her sleep-addled consciousness. 

She opens the link.

 

—

 

“ _Hey_.”

It’s soft. Timid. Shy. _Sleepy._

It’s everything Lance didn’t think he needed to hear. His frustrations and his desires are giving him whiplash, but he knows he must concede to one.

“Hey.”

Given the choice, he’ll always follow his heart. Let his mind be damned.

“ _I… I suppose I wanted to apologize for earlier today_.” Lance looks down to her arms. It’s like her whole body is glowing. “ _I know you said to-“_

“It’s not even here or there, anymore. You… you were right.” _Right._ He churns the word out, somhow. “I shouldn’t have fanned the flames.”

“ _Don’t give yourself too much grief about it. She wanted it to work out just as much as you did. If not, more. My involvement likely didn’t help any_.”

“You know. I think whatever ‘working out’ or anything that could have happened between us died when she caught me still talking back to myself. At nothing. Loudly.”

“ _I don’t think Lotor’s going to look at me the same way again._ ” Allura confesses. “ _At least not for a while._ ”

“We just gotta wait for this whole thing to blow over.”

“ _Yes. Quite._ ” She nods. Atop her comforter she traces her fingers over seams. “ _When it comes to you, I guess… I guess I lose my countenance. My sole focus is you._ ”

O-oh.

Oh.

 _What do I even say to that_?

Lance elects to say nothing at all. Elects to jump to another topic entirely.

He breathes in the glowing, radiating sensation tingling all over Allura. He can’t put a word to it. Can’t put his finger on it. “You feel funny,” his eloquent starter.

“ _I feel- oh._ ” Lance can feel her blush heating up _his_ face. “ _That must be. Oh dear._ ” He’s like, 93.421% certain she’s going to say what he thinks she’s going to say. “ _It must be because Lotor and I… on the phone._ ” She coughs. “ _Just a bit ago._ ”

“Well it,” goddammit. She’s got him getting the stutters, too. “It feels really good. I envy your bliss.”

 _Was that the right thing to say?_ Lance hopes it was the right thing to say. In the event that it wasn’t,

“I’m sorry. That was too deep, right. You and Lotor have your own thing going on. I don’t want to get caught in that crossfire.”

Allura yawns. Yawns and yawns and yawns; the man is surprised he doesn’t get any from her. 

In a tone Lance is reluctant to place, she whispers to him. “ _I should probably go_.”

 _So soon_?

“I’m sorry if- _that-_ I ruined your call with Lotor.”

“ _Please, Lance.”_ The hand-tracing swirling stops. “ _We could spend the rest of the evening apologizing. I’d much rather spend it sleeping_.”

“Now that’s-“ oh. Looks like he caught the yawns now. “I like the way you think.”

The barest, subtlest of smiles melts its way across Allura’s face. He can feel it. 

“ _I guess this means goodnight, then_.”

Damn.

“I guess it does.”

Nod nod.

Nod nod.

“ _Good night, Lance_.”

He didn’t even make any moves to slink back down to bed. Busted. 

“Night, Allura.”

But… neither is she. He can still hear and feel the pulls of her breath. He can still hear and feel the expanding in her chest. 

“ _Good night_.”

It's a call they can't break up.

“Good night.”

Evening wears on. The fickle mistress of sleep is in limbo with the Rosy Fingered dawn. The two stand on either sides of night’s contention, both separating and conjoining lovers. 

Neither Allura’s evening or Lance’s dawn want to sever the connection.

It is only the most beautiful times that time goes by so fast. They are good to remember, though: the faster the evening passes, the sooner the morning comes.

With that hope in their head and a dream in their heart, their last good night is neither bitter nor sweet.

It is savory.

 


	8. Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for both anxiety and spicy times featuring our favorite duo. They both happen near the end of the chapter. Nothing too crazy, but a warning just in case!

They had agreed to give each other 5 days to meet in Oklahoma. A week to meander, drive and photograph to their hearts’ content until they met in the middle. Lance has already blown a day with his little date excursion with Plaxum, but it’s nothing he can’t all-nighter through. For sure. Realistically, three days was all they needed to bust ass and them themselves to the halfway point, but now that they only have the 3 days left, they’re feeling the push. It’s crunch-time now.

Rest-stops are made fewer and farther between. They can’t play their I Spy games anymore unless they want the other to get in an accident. Lance and Allura keep their eyes on their exclusive roads.

 _Has it always been this boring_?

Where Allura had seen the sky as bleached and fathomless, is now becoming brittle and endless. There’s always more horizon to be breached. There’s always more desert to cross. Let the desert give way to plains already!

There are no clouds in the sky for her to count. There are no passing cars for her to play games with. Lance doesn't even bother to peer on her empty road; it's too pathetically barren. She’s jealous of his roads. The highways nearer the east coast are actually populated. The sky actually ends. There’s really real cars.

Only endless driving awaits Allura.

Well. Endless roads. And singing.

“ _You done being a rock princess, your Highness? Can we play some music from this decade, now_?”

She resents that! Allura’s father raised her on The Guess Who. “Not until we can find a song you can sing along to. The whole way through.”

“ _Allura,_ ” Lance groans. “ _Who knows how long that’ll take to find_.”

“It’s one song, silly head! One!” That radio dial is turning up, up up. “It’ll take less time with less griping. Notice that direct correlation! Funny how it all works out.”

“ _Fuuny enough, I don't think that’s how that works out_.”

She jabs at him. He jests her back. Song after song they go back and forth; her trying to find a song he can recognize, him trying to modernize the resident old soul.

Not only did she find one, single, solitary song he recognized- she found 5. Lance belted along to each and every one.

“ _I couldn’t resist the hair-raising melodies, Allura_.”

“I see.” Victory is delicious, swift and smug.

“ _It was the inner huero in me getting turnt. You know how it is._ ”

Excuses, excuses. “I’m afraid I don’t.” In a rare occurrence, Allura turns down the radio for a song with an unfamiliar tune. A classic rock song she doesn’t know? Say it isn’t so. “Besides, I thought you said you said you were Cuban. Or, are you mixed?”

He snorts. “ _Ha. Nope._ ”

He happily takes the lady’s lowered volume to jack up his own. It’s one of those top 40 channels, so she doesn’t take much mind. She sings along to pop-y choruses, laughs at Lance’s steering wheel drumming. The ridiculous voice-overs have her almost driving off the road, so he promises to “ _be less humorous in the furture_.” Which is both an empty promise and and instigator for more snort-laughing.

Hit single hit single hit single.

Sing along sing along sing along.

Endless road. Unchanging tans. Pops of green. Starchy blue so light it fades to white. The woman is starting to feel the brittle air seep through the vents. She’s gotta… just. _pop_ There. Roll back her shoulders. “Ahh.” Flex her fingers a little. _pop pop_ “There we go.”

“ _You all good over there_?”

Shakes out her hair. “Yes. I just had to flex a little so I made sure I wasn’t turning into brittle soil and bones, too.” She gives a pointed panoramic. “Make sure I’m still flesh and sinew.”

“ _Well, you know what they say._ ” He taps his fingers on the wheel. “ _Ashes to ashes, dust to dust._ ”

“I’m hoping it’s a little early for that.”

Hold on just a second. While Allura greedily dwells in Lance’s kind humidity, she tunes her ear to his radio. Quietly, unobtrusively a song opens in welcome melody. A single guitar leads the melody. She’d know that guitar anywhere. (That is, if her nostalgia is serving her right.)

“Lance.”

She doesn’t have a moment to lose.

“ _Yeah, babe?_ ”

“Turn up the radio.” His hand lifts. Then hovers above the dial. “What are you doing! Turn it up, turn it up?”

“ _We like this_?” He wraps his fingers around the knob.

“I _love_ this song. Now turn it up.”

Slowly, achingly he turns the volume louder. The guitar is still most prevalent. A female singer’s voice slips in beside it. Allura’s smile is beaming and _infectious._

She sings along.

_…just what you want me to be-_

A little rhythm against the steering wheel. (She’d close her eyes to let the music take her back farther.

_One kiss. And boom you’re the only one for me._

“ _So please tell me whhy-yy-_ “

“You cheeky bastard! You know this song too.”

“ _Know this song? Please._ ” He cranks the dial _up_. “ _I_ am _this song_.” But then he… is he pulling over? Lance is pulling over. Lance is pulling his car over to the side of the road.

“What are you doing?”

Gets himself out of his car. “ _You know this song like the back of your hand. I’d bet my ass to the grass._ ” He runs back over to the driver's side so he can blast the song through the windows. “ _I bet you know this song better than you know yourself._ ”

Perhahps, but… “What does that have to do with anything?”

“ _Pull over._ ”

What. 

“I beg your pardon?”

Lance is going to ask her something she doesn’t want to be asked, isn’t he. “ _Do you trust me_?” Yes. He did.

It works in his favor, though. Cause “Yes. I do.”

“ _Then pull over. Come on. Who’s going to stop you?_ ”

She looks to her right. Looks up to her rear-view mirror. Precisely no one is going to stop her, that’s who. She is convinced. Allura rolls to a stop on a dusty, barren shoulder and waits for further instruction.

“ _Bailamos_.”

She doesn't know-

“ _Dance with me._ ”

Ah. Okay.

“Right now?”

“ _No, when the song’s over. Yes now! With me! Come on, I’ll get us started.”_ He picks up the song where they left off. " _Cause right now I’m cry-yin’, out side the door- of your candy store.”_

Allura takes the harmony. “It just takes a little bit of this-“

“ _A little bit of that-_ “ Lance sways his shoulders.

“Started with a kiss, now we’re up to bat.” Okay. She’s getting into this.

“ _A little bit of laughs,_ ”

“Little bit of pain-“

The woman’s voice tapers. “Tellin’ you my babe, it’s all in the game of love…”

Lance keeps singing. He sings and belts and performs the song for the pleasure of Allura’s audience.

She doesn’t want to give the time to be introspective. Right now and for the next 2 minutes, lyrics are not only inconsequential; they’re _hers._ She’s not going to give the time of day to wary consequences. She dances along, too.

Other divers on the road are giving Lance side-eyes. Odd looks. He doesn't screw the effort to flip them off, just keeps right on dancing. 

And Allura. Allura laughs. 

She laughs and sings and dances her cares right off the side of the road. Clutching her chest, twisting her hips, she can feel Lance’s movements when they counter hers. A gust of wind _rushes_ through her hair. Does that hair tie need to be there anymore? She thinks not. She dances under the cloudless sun and she feels bright. She sings along to an audience of one and she feels good.

She moves, and she feels free.

_You roll me, control me. Console me. Please hold me._

The horns, guitar the _sky_ lift her out and away.

_You guide me, divide me into one…_

Lance does these, _good Heavens_ , ridiculous vocal trills along with the guitar solo and she is gone.

“ _I told you I was this song, Allura_!”

“That is! Oh my goodness,” she has to fan her running tears away. “I’m so glad I had the privilege to be graced by that-“

“ _So please tell my whhy-yy,_ ” Lance punches it.

Singing is smoothly resumed.Their voices weave over and around the singer’s. Each others’. The bright sky above her and the brittle warmth around her bring her back to the bench from the day before last. She knows the one thing that would complete this scene.

The song starts to play its last cords, so they take it as their cue to hop back on the road. 

“Hey Lance.”

The whisps of notes from the song twirl from his lips. “ _Yeah_?"

“I had an idea. I was inspired by you.”

“ _Allura!_ ” He gasps. _His stomach can’t possibly hold all that air?_ “ _I inspired you. Am I your_ muse?”

“I… I reckon it means you are!”

Allura doesn’t know which is more ridiculous: the vocalized guitar solo or his fist-pumping. 

“ _Nice_!” He makes double sure to pull down his visor mirror and wink to Allura through it. “ _As you were saying. What was your idea that I so ephemerally inspired_?”

“My idea…” Ideas from Lance are rubbing off on her. Speech patterns from Lance are rubbing off on her. The drama-building is rubbing off on her too and she is trepidatious to think of what is next. “Is that… Since you showed me photos from your past-“

“ _Ehh-_ “

“People from your past.” She amends. “I got to know so much more about you, and I want to return the favor. There are some photos I’ve forgotten for so long until that conversation. I should think I’d like to share them with you.”

“ _For real_?”

“Yes. I think it only polite above all things, you agree?”

“‘ _Polite_.’” He raises a brow. “ _Hope you’re not doing it_ just _to be polite_. _‘Polite’s’ never… no se puede for me, you know?_ ”

“Are you trying to say you’re crass?”

“ _I’m not saying I’m high society_.”

She waves him off, “A moot point, Lance. I don’t care. I’ve already seen who you are, too. I wouldn’t care either way.” She sniffs. “Either way, you’re making me get away from my point! Or are you trying to communicate you’d rather not see them. Which is fine as well. Please don’t feel like you need to talk around-“

“ _No! I want to see them!_ ” Lance’s hands pull white from his unrelenting grip. “ _I’m sorry. Sorry. You know me, I’m just being an asshole_.” He seems to be doing his defeated sighs much more often, lately. “ _I want to see them._ ”

“Then it’s settled!” 

Lance _yanks_ his car to the left in overcompensation.

“ _Allura!_ ”

Oh. Oops. She let go to clap. “Many apologies.” She got a little excited, there.

“ _Let’s keep our excitement for when we’re off the road, maybe_?”

“Oh shut up.” More hand waving. Dismiss. Dismiss. _Sniff_. “You’re just as excited.”

“ _Seeing baby Allura in Hello Kitty diapers? Hell yeah I’m excited._ ”

“Shut up!” Lance waits for her effervescing giggles to pass. “How about this.” He waits on baited breath. “When we check into the next hotel, I’ll ask Lotor if he can find my box of family photos. If they’re not in the apartment, then we’re hosed.”

“ _That was pretty anticlimactic, not gonna lie._ ”

“But I don’t see why they’d be anywhere else! They might be in storage, but we’d both have to wait until I get home.”

“ _Wait_.” There’s a hole in her plan. “ _Wouldn’t you have to be at home to show me, anyway?_ ”

“No. Not at all.” 

She makes double sure to smirk in the way she knows Lance can never say no to. “Skype is such a blessing. Wouldn’t you say?”

He’s still not seeing it. “ _Skype? How would, I don’t-_ “

“Skype. Between Lotor and I. He would show me the photos, flip through them for me.”

“ _And…_ ”

“And you would be there, too. Wouldn’t you.”

“ _I- Ooohh._ ” He’s got it. “ _Allura. You fair-haired Nyx- you are a genius. I got you. I see you. That’s genius. I love it._ ”

“Glad to hear it!” She pulls her own visor down. Winks as fluidly and cockily as Lance will dare to share. 

He seems to like it.

“ _O-of. Of course I do_.”

“Then I’ll call Lotor tonight! See if he’s available. I’ll let you know if it all pans through.”

“ _Looking forward to it._ ”

“I bet you say that to all the ladies,” she sticks out her tongue-

“ _You would know._ ”

-and nearly bites it from her instant, incendiary laughter. “Yes! I would!”

“ _Ahh,_ ” he drones a laugh. “ _Anyway. Tell me how it goes with Lotor, okay? I know you have a lot of ground to cover today so I don’t want to keep distracting you.”_ His laughter peters. His tone finalizes. “ _I’ll talk to you tonight._ ”

“You got it! See you later, Lance!”

All Allura can think is how literally she can take the phrase. Not for the first time, she wonders how many people in all of history in all the Earth can say the same. 

_Oh moon, glow bright._

Make the day endless _night_.

 

Allura waits for Orion to resume his eternal romantic chase before she dials her phone. The confrontation of Lotor’s exasperated, tried or suspicious faces is lifted from her. That's half the battle right there. Now she may contend with only just his exasperated, tried or suspicious vocal tones. 

 _The call is for a simple request. Photos shouldn’t be that big of a deal. Nothing catastrophic. How bad can it be_?

Not a smart question for her rising anxieties. She asks it all the same.

Lotor answers her call right away. He would be remiss, just a _terrible_ boyfriend if he missed her call. “Allura, this is a welcome surprise.”

“Lotor. I hope it’s not too late?”

Something jingles in the background. “No, no. Now is fine.” His watch, then. “It was about time for me to eat, anyway. Is there a particular reason you called?”

“There is, actually.” _Go for it_. “I need to ask you a favor.”

Hook.

“Indeed? And what is it.”

“You remember the box of photos I kept with all of my albums and whatnot?”

Line.

“I do remember. What about them?”

“I’d like to see some. If you can find them.”

Sinker.

“Your photos.” Lotor says it not like a question. “It might take a bit to find them. Why the sudden interest?”

“I wanted to show them to La-“ Oops. Reroute. “I wanted to show them to myself. Remind me of some memories. Maybe I’m becoming nostalgic from all the places I’ve already been?”

“Nostalgic.”

Another not question. Allura’s already running on borrowed time, she knows it. 

“Yes, nostalgic. Seeing different places, stopping and taking new photos- it makes me remember simpler times. Do you ever feel that way?”

“I can’t say that I have.” Lotor doesn’t sound altogether impressed, but not altogether unamused. “So you’re saying that you driving through… where are you, now? Arizona?”

“I’m just about to pass into Texas.”

“Almost-Texas. And these places are making you nostalgic?” He knows her childhood was DC. “Are you sure?”

“Okay, so not the places themselves. It’s more of the atmosphere of craving. Does that make sense?” The faster it makes sense the faster she gets photos.

“Craving. You’re craving your childhood?”

She could break a board. “I’m craving my photos, Lotor!” She keeps her tone in check. “Do you know where they are? The last time I checked, they were in the closet.”

Momentary silence. “The closet?” He hums on a note, “I don’t think they’re in there. I haven’t seen your box in quite a while.”

Impossible. They should still be in there. Neither gone or forgotten. “Oh.”

Now they’re at an impasse. Alllura wants Lotor to get the photo albums. Apparently the photo albums are not to be gotten. But she already promised Lance they would look at them! How can she let him down when she built this up so much? 

She knows beautiful things happen if she asks nicely. So timidly, meekly, she plays around with the idea: “Could you maybe, just-“

“Would you like me to check?” Lotor offers. “I can, but I don’t know what I’m actually going to find. I would hate to disappoint you, dear.”

“I can live with the disappointment.” Will she be able to live with Lance’s? “I would greatly appreciate it if you looked, but don’t feel like-“

“I’ll do it, ‘Lura.” More chain-twinkling. _shuffle shuffle shuffle_. The creak of a door. The give of a floor. “Promise me you won’t be disappointed if I come back empty, though. You know I am so helpless against your disparaging faces.”

“I promise to keep my despair at a minimum,” Allura swears.

From the other end of the line, she assumes he opens the closet door. She’s allotting the time spent in silence as him rooting around. She could have _sworn_ she put it right-

“My apologies, dearest.”

No. No, what does that mean.

“Apologies about what? What happened? Are they not there?”

“I couldn’t find the box.” _Really?_ “It isn’t there.”

“Did you check everywhere? Maybe it wasn’t labeled. Is somewhere else in the apartment?”

With every word her heart rate raises.

“Do you not trust me, Allura? I checked everywhere in that closet. I can look in the bedroom or the guest room but it would be fruitless. I have not seen it. Not for quite a while. It won’t be there.”

She needs that box. “If it’s not too much trouble, try the bedroom. I can’t imagine why that box would be in there but it’s been so long since I’ve looked through them. It can’t hurt to try.”

“You’re oddly insistent about this, dear.” A convicting statement. “Why is that?” Lotor cuts right to the chase.

Allura has no quelling answers. There is no good reason for her to want to see her albums this badly. (None that she wants to share, anyway.) She can’t keep pushing the issue. She can’t make the photos appear from thin air. She can’t articulate the acuteness of her disappointment. 

She lets it go.

“No reason, darling.” _No reason you would like to hear._ “I’m sorry if I sounded pushy. It’s not that important.” _It is_. “It’s not like I can’t look at them when I get home.”

“When you get home.” There is much more intoned in that sentence than Allura knows is going to be explained to her. Something about the way he said “home.” “You do remember where home is, yes? Here? With me?”

“ _Yes_ , Lotor! It’s our home. One road trip isn’t going to change all that. I’m not that frazzled.”

That would imply she’s frazzled at all.

_Aren’t I, thought? Terribly so?_

“Okay, darling. Just checking.” He inhales before saying, “Now I know I shan’t keep you much longer. You have much ground to cover, I imagine.”

“Yes. Yes I suppose I do.” Allura’s heart isn’t in it. Her voice is barely in it. How could one box full of only one thing mean so much to her?

“Do be safe, okay.”

How could she build herself up to be let down so badly?

“I will, Lotor.”

“I’ll talk with you later then, dear.”

How could the whine of the dial-tone cut more gruesome, more bloody, more harshly than a guillotine? 

There are no photos to show Lance. There’s no box to be found in the apartment. 

But she could have sworn they were _right there_.

But she promised Lance.

 _I promised Lance_.

 

—

 

“ _I always love when I have to start conversations with apologies._ ”

Allura’s voice chimes in to Lance right on time. The sarcasm is thick and palpable. He would be proud if he weren’t more readily concerned. 

“Apology, apology. What do you have to apologize for?” He turns down the volume of the crappy hotel TV. Everything and anything is static fuzz next to Allura’s voice.

“ _The photos. I promised._ _And I couldn’t deliver._ ”

“Your photos. Your family photos?”

The woman sucks in a shuddering breath. “ _The photo albums, yes_.”

“Oh!” Lance remembers, now. “You asked Lotor to look for them, and everything? What did he say?”

“ _He said he couldn’t find them_.”

Lance doesn’t like the sound of that. He’s not super convinced in believing the sound of that, either. “Uh-huh.” Buddy, dude. Pal. Don’t sound so defensive yet. _Let the lady speak._ “What else did he say?”

“ _W-well_ ,” she explains. “ _When I moved in with him, I remember putting my photo albums somewhere in the top shelf of the closet. He looked around, but couldn’t find them. I asked if he could look in the bedroom or the guest room, but I didn’t want to push it too much. He asked why I sounded so insistent in finding them so I dropped the issue. Too many flags are being raised as it is. I don’t want to exacerbate the issue by asking for things that really can wait. Lotor is a busy man, too._ ”

“‘Busy’ shmusy. He couldn’t take 10 minutes to find your pictures? Kind of a douche move.” He snorts.

“ _Lance! He is a busy man! Like I said- this exchange can wait. I do hope you’ll forgive my empty promise, though. I shouldn’t have made promises I couldn’t keep_.”

What?

“Allura, no. You didn’t know this would happen. No big deal. Like. At all. You’ll find ‘em when you find them.”

Her next shuddering breath is more unstable than the last. The vocal tone is more unstable than it was. Something plateaus. _What is going on?_

“ _I’m sorry, I. I… I couldn’t. I didn’t want Lotor to be any more worried about me._ ”

“It’s okay, babe-“

“ _He’s already wanting me to come home. Very much. He knows something is happening and he’s not telling me anything he’s suspecting but I wanted to show you these photos, since you showed me yours-_ “

Lance shakes his head. “Once you get back home, you can show me then. Really, Allura. It’s no biggie.”

“ _It is!_ ” she exclaims.

A wild and wily fluttering in her heart is pounding in tandem with Lance’s. It’s not a happy, excited or sexy kind of pounding. He labors his breathing for the both of them, ignoring the bombarding of confusion rattling in his head. 

“ _It is a ‘biggie_ ’. _I know you were looking forward to seeing them just as much as I was. I was so sure they were where I left them, but I can’t show them to you, now. Lotor is always apprehensive when he deals with my ‘despair’- I would hate to console_ both _of us in our disappointment._ ”

“I’m really not all that hurt,” Lance assures. Makes sure to promise. “Maybe a little disappointed? It’s not anything I can’t live with, though. I’ve had worse,” he laughs.

“ _But I promised! I have to return the favor! I have to. I said I would! I have to. I have to…_ ”

“Allura. Allura.” If Lance asks her to face a mirror to look at him, would it make the issue better or worse? “You don’t have to. You did what you could.” He doesn’t know what the real issue is, but it’s definitely _not_ the photos. “We can talk about something else, tonight. You’re okay.”

“ _I_ promised!”

The woman is getting hysteric. She’s _sniffling_. What does Lance do, what does he do, what does he do?

“You know? I don’t think you actually did?” Lance is wracking his brain, but nothing is developing coherently with Allura’s fast-paced breaths, sniffling nose and implacable assertions. “I think you’re off the hook for this one.”

“ _Those photos meant so much, Lance_!”

Oh God how does he help. How does me make this feeling go _away_? It’s only building and building. It’s fizzing. It’s bubbling. It’s going to froth over and he wants to keep it down before it gets to that point.

“I can only imagine, Allura. I dont know… I don’t know-“

“ _What would Lotor do with them? Why couldn’t he find them_?”

He fears they’re already at that point.

The woman continues. “ _They meant everything._ ” She chokes on every syllable. “ _I’ve only ever kept them in that one place._ ” Her tears swell with every word. “ _I don’t know where else they would be.”_ She can’t. Stop. “ _My life is captured in those albums. I don’t… I can’t. Where would they be_?”

Lance can feel the woman’s head start to fuzz out. He can’t sit still long enough for her shaking legs to sit. Her waving hands starting folding over each other- now they stroke up and down her arms in jerky pulls. Nothing, _nothing_ about her is still. Nothing is stable. Nothing is clear. 

Everything is _hot_.

“ _All my memories are there, Lance. All of them! My childhood memories of things I can’t even remember, they- they were kept in the… In the blue album. I think._ ” She rustles her hair. “ _And- and next was the red one. Um. I, uh. The red one was next. Father went a little camera-crazy in the red album_. _The red album was second grade. That’s all it was_.”

Lance stays silent where Allura cannot. He has no words of consolation, anyway. His silence is helpless. He can only listen.

“ _The- the red one was funny!_ ” The woman’s laugh is poisonous and painful. “ _Okay. And then after the red one was… I think it had the- the. The flowers on it. I would bet dollars to daylight the next one had the glittery, sparkling flowers on it because I chose that one. Oh! And you’ll never guess what makes this one special!_ ” she screeches in his ear.

Does Lance have to guess? “What is it, Allura?” he asks warily.

“ _This is the one that Lotor starts to appear!”_ she weeps.

Frankly, Lance doesn’t care about all that. He doesn’t care about Lotor, he doesn’t care about the albums. He doesn’t care which order they’re supposed to be in, or which album has what. His only care right now is calming Allura down.

But _how_.

Her energy is ratcheting. Her volume is raising. Something in her doesn’t want to be held in the confines of her body, and she’s about to explode. 

She needs to run, she needs to go, she needs to get _out_ -

“Allura.” He swallows her name.

“ _From then on, he only becomes a more frequent visitor. You know, I think in the flower album there were more… um._ ” She can’t hold on to her words longer than her tears fall from her. “ _There were more of Lotor and I, than._ ” Her eyes squeeze shut. “ _Than._ ” She hiccups out her words. “ _Than my father and I_.”

Does Lance let her keep moving? Keep purging? The brink of Allura’s mind has already been breached and there’s no pushing _anything_ down now. How does he _help_? What does he do. 

 _How do I stop feeling so weak_?

“Allura.” He tries.

The only response is fevered babbling. He tries again.

“Allura?”

She’s collapsing. Sinking. Drowning- and pulling Lance with her. With every shattered breath she takes, it gets harder for him to think. 

He’s reaching into endless depths.

“Allura. I need to ask you to do something for me.”

“ _What? What is it_?”

 _Good God. She thinks I’m asking for a favor_. “I need you to lie down for me.”

“ _Lie down_?” Pobrecita is about as confused as Lance is.

“Yes. Lie down. On your back.” He gestures to where her bed is. “On that, yeah.”

“ _But- but I-_ “

Lance isn’t so proud not to beg. “Please, Allura. Lie down on the bed for me.”

“ _Oh. Okay._ ”

Her breath is no less frantic, she’s panicking only marginally less but it’s a start. It’s a start. He keeps going. 

She’s looking up at the smooth ceiling above her. She’s fisting and releasing the sheets beside her, making Lance’s palm itch and burn. He needs her to let go.

“You’re lying down?”

“ _Yes. Yes I am. Yes._ ”

“Can you try breathing with me, then?”

It’s the only thing he knows how to do.

“ _Breathe with you?_ ”

“Yes. Breathe with me.” He lies himself down on his bed to mirror her. “Alright? Do it with me. I’ll inhale-“ he takes in a five second breath. “Hold it.” Keeps it for fives seconds. “Now let it go.” And spends five seconds releasing.

“ _I don’t see how-“_

“We’ll do it again. Inhale,” lets in his breath with measured counts. “Hold.” Lets it sit in his chest. “Release.” Puffs it out of his mouth in slow steadiness.

“ _Lance, really. Do-_ “

He’s not moving from his damn bed until her heart can be kept within her chest. Again he says, “Inhale.” However long it takes, however many times they have to go through it, he leads them both in tandem breaths. Slowly but surely, Allura breaths along with him. She starts to breathe normally. The racing of her heart calms to its normal _pitter patter._ Lance no longer fights any bile trying to force its way up his throat.

The frantic fades. The pressure loosens. Her hands are coming." lax. She’s letting everything fall.

All that’s left is her cold, runny tears.

Her voice is found after a long, brittle moment.

“ _I think they’re gone, Lance_.”

All hope is lost after a short, simple phrase.

He doesn’t know why the hell he’s compelled to ask, “Why do you think?”

“ _The only other place they would be aside from the closet is the bedroom. They’re not in the bedroom. I know they’re not in the guest room. The only place that’s left for them to remain is the garbage._ ”

Lance kinda hates how there was no grand reveal. He couldn’t psyche himself into the truth. (Knowing him, he would have psyched himself out.) It just what is what it is.

“You think they’re… they’re really gone?”

“ _I do._ ” It’s a death sentence. Cold, distant, unfeeling and unforgiving truth. “ _There’s no other place they could be. I would say I can’t believe it, but I can. I can_.”

The truth makes Lance sick. “But that’s… That’s not okay!” Oop. Now it’s Lance’s turn for the heart beating, the tight fisting, the arm rubbing. “You shouldn’t be getting sad. You just be getting _pissed_. Why aren’t you mad?”

“ _Shh. Shh._ ” Slowly, fluidly, she sits up on her bed. “ _I’m not angry for good reason. I asked, and he couldn’t find them. I know I put them there, but maybe he discarded of them. Maybe they were there but he omitted showing them to me. Either I would understand_.”

“You would understand?! What the cheese-“

“ _He knows the intensity of my vacillating mood when I look at my childhood. My mother._ ” Deeep breath in. “ _My father._ ” Heavy breath out. “ _It’s not a big surprise he didn’t want me to see them. He knows how I get. I think he was trying to protect me._ ”

“‘Protect’ you? What the hell? Does he think he’s saving you from yourself? Sorry if I’m sounding like whatever or whatever, but you? You don’t need saving. You don’t need any stupid-ass ‘protecting’, God. Spare me.”

“ _It’s a moot point now, Lance._ ” Allura’s smile is so weak. It is so very withered. Barely a flick of the lips. 

This is the hight of her despair. Lance isn’t a fan.

“A moot point. A moot point, why is it a moot point.”

“ _I still have the memories, don’t I_?” she raises. “ _I remember many of the photos. I am neither quick nor easy to part with them._ ” Quickly she recounts her favorites. As she wipes at her eyes, smoothes down her hair, she takes them back down Memory Lane. “ _Let’s see. Whenever I started from the beginning, it was to greet the smiling face of my mother as she held a bouquet. I don’t think I can find more than a handful of photos of her without her favorite flowers._ ”

“What were they?” A whisper of a thought is Lance’s voice.

“ _Lilies.”_

“Pretty.”

“ _They are._ ” She agrees. “ _So is she. Now let’s see. Ah. My father love his baby photos of me. There’s me in my Sesame street onesie. Now there’s Hello Kitty. Me in my first sundress. It was a hand-me-down from my mother. With the way I worshipped it, you’d think it was my mother herself._ ”

Lance’s laugh is bittersweet. “That’s nice.” 

“ _My father thought so too,_ ” she laughs too ever so deftly. “ _Until he realized the dress was glued to my body. It was quite a conundrum._ ”

“That’s so cute!”

“ _Stop, stop. You’ll make me blush_.” Oppressive silence sweeps over. Every time she begins to come up, it pushes her right back down again. The more she ruminates, the further she falls. 

Lance knows he said she didn’t need saving, but… Should he fall in after her? Or should he just through down a rope?

“What are some of your other favorites?”

He throws her a bone.

“ _I would love to get there. I would_ love _to get there, but…_ ” Looks like the fall it is. “ _They’re all drowned out with photos of Lotor. He’s there so much. Why is he there so much_?” She’s not anxious. She doesn’t sound disturbed. The only thing she sounds is tired. “ _He’s with me there, during trick-or-treating. There he is again, pushing me on my tire swing. There when we graduated. There at my prom._ ”

 _This creep took her to_ Prom _? How dare he_!

Lance. Other matters at hand.

“ _He’s there so impossibly often._ ” Her gaze is off. Off-kilter. Seeing nothing and everything. “ _So often_.”

That’s it. It’s over.

Screw this silence, it’s time is over. 

Lance is doing something about it.

_Yeah, finally._

“I can tell you about myself, Allura. You know about my sisters. True to any hispanic family alive they were huge pains in my ass, but I loved them anyway.”

“ _I can tell you have a lot of love to give_ ,” she says.

“Eeehhh,” he whines. “I think I could have stood to show it to them a little more. Sometimes. Maybe? Definitely my mom. My mom put up with a lot from me.”

“ _You must have gotten it from her, then._ ”

“Aw, shucks. Now you’re going to make me blush.” He ducks his head, down down down. “Nah, she. She did so much. For all of us. I hung around a bad crowd at school, you know? But before I even got to high school I burnt out her 70 times 7 forgiveness rule. There’s no home for me with her, anymore. My sisters got tired of me, too. They got tired of me asking them for stuff, begging them for things.” His snicker is so leaden he needs to drag himself to the bathroom and wash it out with soap. “Hell, I got tired of me asking people for things. Asking for money. For a place to stay. A decent job. I got so tired of wanting and asking and second-guessing. Guess I just… took my car and drove out to find something.” _Find something_? “Nah. I know that’s not true. I wasn’t looking to find anything out here. I picked up and went out cause I was running away from it all.”

“ _Have you found something, regardless? Has this been good for you? Your excursion?_ ”

“Have I found something.” Well. He can think of one thing. “Yeah I found something.”

“ _What’s that_?”

“I found you.”

And he _means_ it.

“All my life I’ve been running from something. Wanting something. Needing to find a place or a feeling or a person, but. You’re the only thing that doesn’t leave me feeling empty after it’s gone.”

“ _You mean that._ ”

“I mean that I’ve never been really confident. Even as a kid- maybe even especially as a kid- I’ve always felt useless. Always too much or too little. Too much or not enough. I was never assured in anything I did. _Anything._ Until you.”

Allura sits up in her bed a little higher.

“The only real thing to me- the only thing I can die saying I’m truly confident in? Is you.”

The lady doesn’t move. 

It feels like she hardly breathes.

Lance lets his last words whip and settle in his memory while Allura wipes away the last of her tears.

She scoots to the foot of the bed. Lance sits crossed-legged, waiting for her next move. 

It’s like a dance.

Smoothly, like the curl of a sigh, the woman lifts her strings to stand. Her feet don’t make a sound as she pads across the lush carpet to stand in front of the desk’s mirror.

Mirror?

Lance lays himself right back down.

“I’m too weak for you, Allura.” That translucent, floaty nightgown is doing nothing for his upstairs and everything for his downstairs. He feels like he’s trespassing. 

Then he feels dirty.

Trespassing implies she’s another man’s property.

Then he feels _ill._

It implies that Allura doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing. Or exactly what she wants Lance’s eyes to be doing. 

She makes no sound. Instead, she lets him have his fill of her view. She grazes her eyes over the ends and tips of her hair. She runs over the features of her face. Lingers unfairly long on the lines, tendons, _muscles_ on her neck that Lance can-

Her chest is next. The lace trimmings on the top of the gown she runs her fingers over, quickly bringing the view lower. The mirror itself isn’t that much longer, but the most of Lance’s interest stops where it does.

_It’s nothing Allura can’t map out for him later._

“You are…” Hm. What is this woman, precisely. _Nothing that can be put into words, that we can be sure of._ “Sometimes I wish you weren’t so beautiful. I- I know ‘beautiful’ is… a lot. It’s a lot. But you’re a lot, Allura. You’re so much in the best way. I don’t want to sound vain or shallow- and I know you and your boyfriend-“

“ _No._ ”

He loves the way she says no.

“No?”

“ _No. Lotor and I aren’t… I’m not. I can no longer be beholden to him._ ” She looks herself in the eye. “ _You’re right I don’t need rescuing. But I did need help. I needed help realizing I needed to be apart from him._ ” It takes everything she has to say, “ _To get away from him. He is not for me, Lance._ ” Her smile is so much easier. “ _More importantly: I am not his._ ”

A pin could drop, and Lance wouldn’t hear it. 

Outside his window, the droning and humming and buzzing of night plays on. Traffic is moving. Stopping. Outside, a rainstorm is brewing just overhead. If he opened his window, he could feel it in the air.

Outside Allura’s, the ground is giving way to tans is giving way to reds are giving way to golds. The land foils the sky in hazy antithesis, with only wispy ribbons of gray, hardly to be called clouds shielding the earth below.

Inside is where the real light emanates. 

The woman spares no sensation.

She stars with the soft, feathery brush of fingers over her wrist. Slowly, slowly, agonizingly she grazes up the fine hair of her arm. Up over the joint of her elbow. Farther still towards her curving bicep. Over still past the gentle protrusions of her shoulder, only stopping at the paper-thin straps of her gown.

Lance holds his breath.

She hooks a finger under, lifts it up-

lets it fall.

The man can’t even swallow. (He wouldn’t dare.)

With every step she takes back towards her bed, he is brought to higher awareness. He can feel every fiber making contact with the soles of her feet. He can feel the kind draft swirling around her as she swings her arms, making contact with her torso. He can feel the shift of the linens as she drags herself back over.

He is spellbound.

He awaits her every move.

He jolts at her next words.

“ _I want to know how you feel against me._ ”

How can he do anything other than acquiesce her every request?

Nervously, ever so quickly as he thinks the mood will allow, he lifts a hand to his face. With a wide open palm, he starts at the edge of his forehead. 

_The very beginning._

Jittering, (he now commiserates Allura,) he start with with the outer edge of his face. Trails the outer convex of his cheekbones. He brings his fingers together for the point of his chin, bringing them back up to the slope of his nose.

Allura’s hands fold and curve over her own face. Her own concaves. Her eyes Her lashes. The plump swell of her lips.

Every touch, graze and drag is returned in kind.

Every second has Lance reminding himself to keep his breathing in check. 

Every movement from Allura’s body makes him want to still himself. _All these distractions are getting in the way_. 

But he must give in to her request.

(He wouldn’t have it any other way.)

He flattens his hands over his chest. Allura’s hitching breath is equal parts satisfying and bewildering. He can’t imagine stopping now.

Not when she runs her on hands over her collar bones. Not when the outline of her breasts are so overwhelming. Not when she warm give of her stomach is sweeter than his photos of peach groves; not when her rolling hipbones are inviting like good company.

He follows his hands to match hers. Gives hers someone to talk to. 

Lets her know just how good his company can be.

This talking without words, conversation without utterance; emotion without music, sensation without description- Lance is really digging it. He’s really into it.

He lets his hands travel lower.

Down to the curves of his own abs, over the tenseness of his legs. 

Allura turns on the bed, running her hand over her side.

Lance trails his hand back up, holding his neck just below the ears like he’d want her to.

The woman keeps turning.

He keeps trailing.

This exploration is lifting him up and away, intoxicating him far beyond any substance could market itself to. It’s bringing himself to a dimension his dreams are too limited to.

Allura brings her hand back to her legs. He stops. His muscles tighten and tighten, knowing and disbelieving. Not seeing, but _feeling_ where her fingers are going to trace next.

She brings the palms of her hands over the wide curve of her thighs. (He’d be fine with her exploring there all day if she’d let him,) but they keep going. They move farther in. They fold in where the space of her legs and hips meet. Over the coarse beginning of outer folds. 

Lance feels heat.

Her fingers linger over. Slip in.

_Oh God._

He has to return the favor, now.

He can think of nothing he’d rather do.

Tucking his hand under his briefs, Lance wraps his hand and slows down to feel himself for them both. 

Over and in. Soundless, breathless and hot they run their hands wherever they can reach. Pulling and savoring in each other for each other where reactions are most garnered. 

_The spot just above the middle of Allura’s thighs._

(The space just to the left of his clavicle.)

It’s over Lance’s head. 

It’s making everything come to attention, begging to be run over and appeased by the woman’s touch.

He wants to pleasure her in ways only she knows how.

They map each other out, connect each others’ stars. 

(Lance is seeing stars, does that count for anything.)

They spend the night simply… feeling. They feel the night passing. They feel the warmth outside draining. They feel the heat inside inflaming. They feel their skin, their bodies, each other and they feel _good_.

Lance has never felt this amazing in his life.

He never even thought to make something like this a part of his Hope queue. 

When they have their fill, sleep comes easy to Lance.

 

—

 

Dreams come all too easy to Allura. 

 

—

 

Lance loves looking forward to more hope.

Now, this hope. This hope he can hold in his hands.

_And she can hold in turn._


	9. Turns and Roads and Pasts

Allura knows she’s parted from Lotor in her heart. She wants to make the official severance. 

 _Shouldn’t holding the knowledge in her heart be enough_?

Absolutely not. No, no, the thinking is not enough. She must think the knowledge, then act on her heart. Next comes the actually telling of Lotor about her divided heart. 

The last legs of her drive she spends in silence, rehearsing the eloquent and confident words she’s going to say to Lotor.

She’ll say, _Lotor. I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough of the way you’ve treated me and my photos were the last straw._ And he’d say, _But Allura. They’re just photos. You would break up with me over a box of photos_? So she’d say something like _They’re not just photos! And this isn’t just about that one instance. It’s about how your blatant disregard for something so important to me which made me realize how little you care_. But then he’d fervently deny! Saying something like, _No, Allura! I do care! I do care for you so much. Please, forgive me. Give me one more chance._ And she would counter, saying _I’ve given you too many chances! It’s over, Lotor_!

Or something like that.

Maybe it would go more like: _Lotor. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for what I’m about to do, but it must be done. Please listen to me the whole way through._ Imploring would have to reach a new depth of definition. But he wouldn’t let her finish, knowing him. He’d hush her softly, _If you’re about to do what I think you’re about to do, I don’t want to hear it._ Allura would have to beg. _Please, please hear me out._ Would Lotor give her the time of day? _I won’t hear it. We will discuss this more when you get home._

Would she even have the words to say? Would she have the gumption to say them; the lead in her pants to say them in a loud, clear voice? 

Was she actually thinking about doing this over the phone? Would it be more respectable of her to do it over Skype? She doesn’t know the protocol for this kind of thing. There should be a free, accessible, online step-by-step guide for this kind of thing.

The more she’s thinking about it, the more she wishes she never even got herself in this kind of thing.

“ _Been awfully quiet this morning_.”

“Oh!”

Maybe Lance will know what to do.

“Hi. Hi, yes. I’ve… I’ve had quite a bit on my mind.”

“ _Penny for your thoughts_?” He bites his teeth on a gasp. “ _Crap. Or did I totally make you lose your train of thought_. _I hate when people do that to me. Ugh, it’s the worst._ ”

“No, no. You're alright.” Well. More than alright if last night is to be constituent to this conversation. “It’s less of thinking about a lot. More of… thinking a lot. About something.”

“ _What is this something_?”

Now Lance is just being coy. He knows exactly what this something is. 

This could be something Allura needs. Getting the words out to a listening party. _Practice._ She shares her plan.

“It’s something to do with Lotor.” _Enough waffling around._ “It’s not going to be easy.” _Enough suspense_! “It’s…” coming out slowly. “I’m thinking about ending things between us.”

All breath is sucked up from Lance’s chest. The silence smothers down Allura’s chest. Creeps up her arms. Elongates the road out in front of her.

She waits for Lance to say something. Anything.

“ _You’re right._ ” His voice is bereft. “ _That is a lot._ ”

She concurs. “To be frank, it’s not the first time the thought has entered my mind.” She is loathe to think of all the times before. “Does that make me despicable? Holding this secret, and not even sharing them with the person it concerns most? Am I a terrible girlfriend?”

“ _No, you’re not despicable,_ ” Lance affirms. “ _You’re not terrible, either. I think you were scared. Right? That’s natural. It makes you human. I think there's nothing wrong with being human._ " He laughs off the lingering severity, “ _right?_ ” 

“I hate the way that sits in my stomach. I don’t want to hide behind any excuses.”

_Even if there’s so much to fear._

“ _You can’t force yourself to do anything you’re not ready for. Baby steps. That’s what ma always said. It’s like eating an elephant. Or eating menudo. Even if I was the only one to hate that stuff_.”

“I don’t think I want to know what that is.”

“ _I think I want to know how you’re going to go about Doing the Thing with Lotor_.”  His cringe comes before he can finish the sentence. “ _Yikes, bad wording. Ew. No thanks. You know what I mean._ ”

“I do know what you mean.” She tilts her head, left to right, bobble bobble before she continues. “I was thinking of simply… calling him. Explaining to him all of the things running through my head. Do you think I should wait until I go back home? Yes. That would be much better. That way I can pack all my things before Lotor throws anything else out.”

“ _I got a question._ ”

Allura cuts herself short. “Yes?”

“ _If you’ve thought of dumping this guy before_ -“ her cringe is that much faster, “- _then why haven’t you gone through with it_? _What was so different from then to now?_ ”

“A lot of things. I suppose.”

Less of “a lot of things.” More of, “a lot about one thing.”

“ _Like…?_ ”

Lance isn’t going to let this one go easy. Fair enough. “Things like the photos. You never appreciate things half as much as when they’re gone, right? Things like this road trip. I never realized how much I craved- no- How much I needed this sense of liberation. Then this clarity. I feel as though I’ve stepped back from my own life. I can see a bird’s view of all the things that have befallen me. Just how… wrong things are. Now is the time to make things right.”

“ _Dumping Lotor is the right thing to do._ ”

She really, _really_ wishes he would stop saying “dump”. It implies mess, chaos. Destruction. She doesn’t want any of that, which is why she says “end”. Let go. It’s coinciding severance. It’s clean. It’s nothing Allura predicts is going to happen, but she’s done with aiming her sights low. 

She’s calling it off.

“Yes. I am fully convinced in my heart this is right.” 

Now she’s actually got to do it.

“ _Godspeed to you then, and all that. Lotor doesn’t know what he’ll be missing._ ”

She’s counting on it. 

She’s counting on herself to get it over and done with before the day is through.

_The day is so horrifically long, though._

What if she loses her nerve before high noon can even rise?

_Much less trying to hold on to my sanity for the sun to set._

“I lied. There is no way I can possibly wait until I get home.”

“ _Wait, what did you lie about, Allura. What are you doing_.”

There’s no way she can even wait until tonight. It’s not happening. She’s going to burst. “I must call him later. I’ll lose my nerve.”

“ _Don’t you think it might be smarter to see him face to face, though?_ ”

“No. No I can’t possibly wait until tonight, either.”

“ _I want you to think long and hard about what what’s going to happen, and not that kind of long and hard_.”

“You’re the only one to think of that kind of long and hard,” the words roll right off her tongue. Off the skin of her back. “No, no no. Time is of the essence. Is tonight too soon?”

“ _Allura._ ”

“Tonight might be too late!” Like sleep, her nerve is a fickle mistress. The sun may set before her resolve does. “Why wait until tonight?”

“ _Because it’s longer and harder_?”

“I shouldn’t have to wait! I’m feeling so invigorated now. I cannot possibly be withheld. I should do it sooner.” _Gasp._ “I should do it right now!”

“ _I’m reeeallly going to be a fan against that? Like I know I’m the one to be all ‘let’s do it’ and not really listen to… anyone. Or anything. Of authority. Or otherwise. But maybe this time-“_

“I’ll pick up my phone right now. Thank you, Lance!”

Ooooh nooo.

She plucks her phone from her purse, tearing her confidence from the pit of her chest. She has this. She’s totally got this.

It’s over once and for all.

She dials in Lotor’s number. She nods her head. Lance’s niggling worry is swimming around in her head, so she tunes his focus out. Her tapping finger is out. It’s lowering… lowering. It’s going to contact Lotor. It’s going to push that screen any second now.

- _ring ring ring-_

Apparently not. Allura brings the ringing phone to ear, expecting something only shy of the worst.

“Hell…o?”

“Allura, Allura. This is the right number, I hope?”

“Yes this is, but-“ that voice. She’s heard it before. “Who is this?”

“It’s your bestie, Ezor! You know, from Lotor’s team. He just can’t stop talking about you. On and on and on, you know how men are.”

She guesses she does now. She knows even less about this “bestie” status, but she has more pressing questions. “Ezor? It is-“ _good? beautiful? unexpected?_ Unwelcome? “so nice to hear from you! May I ask to what I owe the pleasure?”

“ _Do you really want to know?_ ”

Funny. Allura was just about to ask the same. The road’s shoulder is tempting her to drive its way so she has something other than the steering wheel to buzz her anxieties over. 

 _Stay on the road._ She calms her hands. She stays in control. 

“Please, Allura. You don’t need to kiss my ass. I get enough of it at work.”

“I-I wasn’t-“

“Save it. Let me tell you what’s up. I’m calling for official business.” Ezor’s voice is just as gummy over the phone as it is in real life. How _does_ she do it. “Not official-official.  Well it’s about Lotor, so he’d say it’s pretty official.”

Nervous laughter. “ _Is this business about which I should worry_?”

“Uh, yeah. Probably,” the woman frankly says. “It’s Lotor and ‘official business’ in the same sentence, come on now. You know better.” Her little laugh is the most jarring of all. “Anyway. The thing. I wanna give you a head’s up that Lotor’s been talking a lot about you. _A lot_ about you. And not the ‘you know men’ kind of talking about you. He’s been bringing all his talking to the office and frankly, we’re all getting sick of it? Not that anyone would say it to his face.”

“ _I see_.”

“For your own sake, I really hope you dooo,” she sings. 

“I’m sorry he-“ actually. No. Allura’s not sorry at all and it’s time she admit she should have stopped being sorry for his sake a long time ago. “What kinds of things specifically has he been saying?”

Ezor lays it on _thick_. “Oh sweetie, you know, he’s so concerned. He's so worried. He’s so… God what did he say. So _trepidatious_ for what's becoming of you.”

“Trepidatious?” Allura isn’t fond of those implications.

“Talking on and on; I’ve lost track of how many times he's said “unwell.” Those implications are even poorer. “And how you were… really pushy about finding your photos? I don’t know why a person would need photos so bad but whatever, not my problem.”

“Miss Ezor, forgive my rudeness but it really isn't your problem. Or, to be candid, any of your business.”

“Well little girl, it it kind of is my business when Lotor starts to give us even more crap than he usually does.” She sucks in a breath through thin lips. “Not that I care, and not that _this_ is actually my business but are you seeing anyone?” Her pitch jumps up again, sweetening to tooth-aching levels. “Asking as your bestie.”

 _What a hypocrite Ezor is._ Maybe she feels ass kissing can only be delivered one way. Allura doesn’t know why Ezor thinks she would appreciate it more coming her way.

“As my bestie? Well even as Lotor’s coworker, I would answer to say that I am loyal and faithful to only him,” for now, “and that there’s no one else to see,” as far as Ezor’s concerned.

She gasps on the other side of the line. “Loyal and faithful? Spare me, Allura! I meant a shrink!” Another gasp. “Oh this automatically makes everything my business now.”

_No no no no no._

“Ezor. Ezor, no.”

“Well tell me who this mystery man you’re seeing is.” She scoffs, “No wonder Lotor’s so ‘trepidatious’ about everything.”

“Ezor! Please, no it’s not like that. I’m not seeing a shrink, I’m not seeing another man-“

“But you know what? As your bestie, I’m gonna give you a little service pro bono. I’m sure you know what that means. I’m going to let both of us pretend we never had this conversation.”

“You don’t need to do that, Ezor-“

“Oh poor Lotor.” She bites the comment back. “Yikes, oops, guess I said that. But you know what, you don’t have to worry; my lips are sealed. Locked down.”

Lockdown? Allura’s about to blow up. “It’s not what you're thinking. At all. Please, I implore, stop thinking about it altogether.” The edges of her phone leave hazy red marks on her hand, she’s clutching it so tightly.

“I don't even know who the guy is. I mean you can tell me if you want to cause that’s besties are for, right.”

The more Ezor speaks, the more Allura is realizing something else. The more Ezor speaks, the more Allura realizes that Lotor isn't the only one that needs an end. 

Allura's realizing how much she dislikes being cut off. 

“Ezor. Really.” She steels her voice. “Stop. I’m not having an affair and there is no mystery man. Be trepidatious. You and Lotor both. I’ve had enough.”

Then she hangs up.

The far stretching road is silent, but her mind couldn’t be any louder. 

_I suppose the silence was one thing for which Lotor was good._

 

—

 

Lance carried his hope all with him through the night. Weightless and easy it was too innocent to come, but he let himself have. Hope; no strings attached. Hope, no despair to follow. 

He knew it was too good to be true. 

He slept with his hope, then woke to a phone call after Allura’s. 

“It’s real cute what you’ve been doin, Lancito.”

Hope without despair. Yeah. He thought the idea was pretty cute while it lasted, as well. 

Lance knows he doesn’t have a choice but to take and continue the call. He rolls over to let Rolo’s voice done on as he books it out of Tennessee. He pushes forward to make Rolo get to the damn point.

“And what is it that I’ve been doin, Rolo.”

“This running away thing?"

“Running away thing…”

“You forget I have eyes and ears everywhere, little Lancey.”

Well okay, so the thing about that is Lance doesn’t know how he can forget something that was never true.  

“What the hell are you talking about?” For real.

“I’m talking about your freakin’ road trip! Where you going? What’s wrong, you running away from me?”

Yep. He absolutely is but like hell is he going to say that any time soon. He can… deflect. 

“Now, Rolo.” Lance bats his model lashes. He’s sure Rolo can hear it in his tone. “Why would I be running away from you. You’re my best bud, my amigo.”

“‘Best bud,’ yeah that's real cute too.” He does a quick _snap-snap-pat_ thing with his hands and Lance knows this conversation is about to become un-cute real fast. “But the thing is that we’ve pushed this delivery far enough. You understand we can't let you know about it if you're not going to _be_ about it. Got it?"

“ _Again,_ with the _delivery_. Rolo, buddy, just let it go."

“Adorable. Adorable. Listen, I’m give it to you straight. I’ve got Nicky and his boys in Kentucky just waiting to find you.”

Right. Like Lance said. Uncute. 

“Now I’m going to make you a deal.”

“Am I going to like this deal.”

Rolo shushes him. “You can either,”  leans his voice one way, “keep running off to wherever you think you’re running off to, and wait to meet Nicky to drag your ass back here.” Rolo leans his voice the other way, “Or you can drive yourself back here your goddamn self and take my last chance to see the light of day in one piece. Your choice.”

Lance doesn’t like this deal at all. “What the hell kind of choices are those? Why don’t,” Lance is just throwing ideas out there, “you and I let this go? We can let this whole thing blow past us.”

“Lance-“

“I’m not that person anymore, Rolo. I’m not your guy. Tell Nicky and his ‘boys’ to turn around, get another watchman, stop _calling me_.” Not that it wasn’t creepy enough they were following Lance in the first place. Not that it wasn’t _frightening_ to now they were so close. 

“ _Lance._ ” 

Oh boy. 

“Lance I’m going to say this one more time, and once more only. You’re either driving yourself back, or Nicky’s driving you back for you. Don’t try to make this ugly.”

“Rolo, you're the only one-“

“We’re going out on Thursday. We _will_ be seeing you here.” He scoffs, and the air he emits is only poison poison poison over the phone. “The only reason we told you about this is because _you_ wanted the money. _You_ wanted the action. You wanted to get yourself out of your ‘punk-ass’ apartment- your words, man. Why you gotta be making me regret telling you? Why make this harder for yourself?” His final words are all a threat, promise, and guarantee. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. The only one it’ll be ugly for is you.”

Then Rolo punches the call off.

_It’s like they don’t even expect me to fight._

It’s like they expect Lance to just, turn around. Just, give in. It’s like they don't believe him. 

It’s like Lance hasn’t changed at all.

 _He didn't even say please!_ Rolo didn't say please? Then Lance really can't go back to Florida. Not with that attitude. 

_Not with how far I’ve already come._

No. No Lance can't go at all. Not with what Allura would think about him. 

_What would she say? That I'm trash like everyone said I always was? That she was so blind to actually look past the tattoos and the piercings and the… everything? That I’ll always be what I always was?_

His heart breaks itself for him.

_What if she says I've never changed?_

The choices feel bigger than go or not. More than drive or be driven. They seem more fatal than fight, flight, posture or submit.

The choices, he’s convinced, are something anyone but him is equipped to make.

 

—

 

After Allura hung up the phone with Ezor, she made another call of her own. Does Allura want to know how immediately after?

Ezor and Lotor have a chat of their own kind. 

Later yet, Lotor makes a call to someone else. His voice a threat, promise and guarantee.  

Does Allura want to know why?

 

—

 

There’s a few random places that Lance has seen things. He’s seen arbitrary ponds on the side of the freeway. There were those shops and boutiques Allura's let him see off dwindling backroads from the interstate. Lance couldn't help but take photos of the crumbling supermarkets in the middle of metropolitan cities, cowed under the weight of their age. 

Then there were the schools. 

Some preschools, day cares, high schools, even universities that had no place or business being where they were. Lance himself doesn’t have a lot of business being where he is so he thinks it fair enough. Some of these elementary schools look like unfenced penitentiaries, while other high schools looked like expensive excuses for pageantry and gentrification. Lance knows what side his education fell on. 

On his double-timed efforts to escape Rolo’s ( _stupidity_ ) grasp, Allura’s gasp jars him from his thoughts. Her voice makes him double take. As he passes a school respectable in its architecture but needlessly _odd_ in its placing, Allura points a jabbing finger outside her own window. She yells, “ _stop, stop, stop!”_

He almost does. In the middle of the road. Then his brain catches up, translates, and turns around.

“What's so important? Do you know this place?” Out across the boundary of Missouri state lines? Lance doubts it.

“ _No. No I don't but…_ ” Lance can feel her trying to harrow in her sight. “ _This playground looks so familiar. So familiar.”_

He looks to see what she sees. There's nothing terribly outstanding or unique about this playground she made him turn around to. Brown monkey bars, check. Jungle gym, check. Mulch and rubber padding, check. Swing set, always a classic. 

She fills in the blank for him. “ _It looks so much like the playground from my grade school. Right down to the long, overgrown fence of honey suckle.”_

He looks out again. He takes in the monkey bars and jungle gym and mulch and swing set. The more he thinks about it, the more right she is. He can see how she would remember waiting her turn to swing from a place like this. He could see her remembering running over to the fence to pluck the flowers. 

He can see her as a little girl now, climbing up the bars and slipping her body through the widest bars, all for the sake of a dare. For her pride. 

Lance holds his gaze on the monkey bars. “They don't look any smaller.”

They speak as if they’ve been there before.

Allura admits, “ _I was afraid of recess for the longest time. I would beg my teacher to stay in, which of course she couldn’t let me do. When I got out of the hospital, I would sit by her all during recess, either drawing or talking with some friends that were sweet enough to sit with me.”_ She draws her breath in deep. “ _I could hardly bring myself to look at the bars for the longest time.”_

Lance lets his breath out heavy. 

“ _Since my accident, I always felt like there was something… that there was something more here. Well. Something more back home.”_ Her laugh is thin, sardonic and brittle. “ _Do you think the playground is where I first lost myself?”_ She pulls off the side of the road to look on to the playground with him. “ _Is there where it all began? Tell me Lance, did I start going crazy further back?”_

“Allura.” He slides his hands off the steering wheel. “Allura, you’re not crazy.” He keeps the mood light, “If you’re crazy then what does that make me?” 

He tries for light, at least.

“ _You don’t understand, Lance. Lotor… Lotor is more to me than just my boyfriend. He was there long before he saw me in such a light that you did. While we were in Virginia, I think it would be fair to say that I broke myself apart. I put too much on my plate, my own expectations were too high and I didn’t know how much- how little, rather- I could handle. I was too sensitive to everything around me. My life got too loud for me, I suppose. My father couldn’t be there to hold me up and I fell apart.”_ Allura’s voice concaves in itself. “ _I fell apart.”_

“Fell apart. Allura, what- what do you mean?”

“ _I mean to say that after I fell apart, I spent-“_ her voice drops off.

He patiently waits.

 _“Right. I mean to say that I spent the better part of an entire winter trying to put myself back together. With the help of doctors and…_ copious _amounts of medication.”_

“Putting yourself back together.” Lance is putting the pieces all together. “Like as in in a hospital?”  He doesn’t like the picture it makes. “Is that what you’re saying? I had no idea that happened, I’m so sorry. That sounds awful.”

“ _Oh, it was.”_ Now that her voice has sunk so far beneath, she finds nothing stronger in her words to give. She minces nothing else, holds nothing back. “ _I’m not surprised you missed it, I wan’t entirely present to experience it, either. My parents had both gone, my friends were few and I had very little to my name.”_ Plainly she says, _“I was so numb.”_

There’s nothing plain about it.

And yet, she continues. 

For his own sake, Lance wishes she didn’t.

“ _I was numb, and all I could do was lie there in bed. Awake. I felt each minute and second roll over me, and I didn’t have the energy enough to cry. For months, more than three months I was this way. I was so numb, but Lotor was there to help me through it.”_

Together they look out at the playground. Allura’s eyes must have glazed over to a time passed a little while ago. When Lance tries to peer on her side, all he sees is the blurred vision on account of her memories. 

He turns his engine off. 

He lets Allura take them back.

“ _Lotor often came to visit me in the hospital. He would read to me, he would talk with me. He would stay with me for so long and I don’t know what I would have done without him. Lance he… he saw me at my worst. I’d never been that low before, but he helped to bring me back up.”_ Her breath shudders out from her, “ _He did for me what I couldn’t do for myself.”_ Her voice hardens without her intention. “ _He saved me. Made me strong when I was so weak.”_

“ _Allura,_ ” Lance implores. “How can you say that? You’ve done so much for me, you’re so strong, how can you say you’re _weak_?”

“ _Tell me this, Lance._ ” She hardens to a challenge. “ _Have I truly made your life any easier? Has my presence been actively positive in any great way_?”

“Yes.” He didn’t even need to think about it. 

But Allura isn’t having it. She lowers her forehead down to the horn, wrapping her hands tight tight around the wheel. “ _Don’t do this to me, Lance. Don’t lie to me. Not now. Not now.”_

“Allura.” He raises his head back up. “Please don’t-“ he groans. “I’m not lying to you.”

“ _I can’t keep living like this, Lance!”_ She sinks lower, too into herself where she sits. “ _Lotor is my boyfriend. I am already committed to him.”_

“Please don’t do this-“ Lance could beg and beg and beg. 

“ _I know you don’t like him, but I need to go back to him.”_

“Weren’t you just saying how you needed to end things between you both?”

“ _I need to be with him, Lance.”_ Her laugh is wet and shattering when she says, “ _I got a call from his co-worker, Ezor. She works with him at the firm and she told me some things.”_

“Allura. Please. What are you saying.”

“ _This is beyond worry, what Lotor is feeling towards me. His suspicion is bleeding into his workplace, Ezor told me herself. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep doing this to him. To myself. To you.”_

“Allura,” Lance stresses.

“ _I need to be with Lotor. I can’t keep doing this.”_

“You keep saying that, ‘you can’t keep doing this.’ What can’t you do, what are you doing, tell me what’s going on.”

“ _I’m_ trying _to tell you, Lance._ ” It wasn’t enough for Allura to break, but she breaks Lance while she’s at it. “ _I need to turn around.”_

Her words only _just_ register through his head.

“You need to turn around.” He nods, slowly and heavy-set. “You need to turn around, of course. Because you always need to to what’s right.”

He knows Allura could take the moment to be cruel. Instead she this chance as her turn to implore, “ _Don’t be angry with me. Try to understand-“_

“Try to understand? Understand. Here’s what I’m having trouble understanding: that for the first time in my life, I finally get to have something _good,_ and something _real,_ something I don’t have to _imagine_ having and you’re telling me to just _give it all up?_ ” Lance scoffs, “Sorry I’m not really in the mood to understand, Allura.”

“ _Lotor cannot tolerate me being apart from him anymore. From the beginning of this trip I fought with myself so hard. I fought to even pack my luggage and walk out the door. This whole time I’ve been fighting against myself and my mind and what Lotor wants from me. What I want from me. I thought I could try at brave, I thought I could try for reckless but it’s not for me, Lance.”_

“Do you think this was easy for me?” He closes his eyes to block his view against the barren, empty playground. “What am I supposed to do now?”

He wants to block his heart against Allura’s deluge.

“ _What will you do? You tell me, Lance.”_

“Allura-“

“ _You, will be just fine.”_

“No, Allura. You don’t have to do this. We’re so close, we’re _so close._ ”

“ _You’ve done so much for me, Lance. And I’m so glad you let me be part of all that you’re starting to achieve for yourself. You have so much. Don’t squander it. Please, please don’t waste what you have. I’ll never forget what all you’ve done for me.”_

He chokes back the water suffusing through his head. “But can’t we-“

“ _No.”_ Allura’s not letting Lance finish that though. She’s not letting the thought enter her own head. “ _No, we can’t.”_

The woman’s voice is broken. Lance can feel his heart start breaking. 

He finally has something to which he can hold on, he doesn’t want to let go, “How can you expect me to just…” _Just._ “Just shut you off?”

How can he let himself wrap around, be okay with, actually say “goodbye”?

In a final way, Allura tries for brave. In a painful way, she says the goodbye for them both.

“ _Because you love me.”_

 _Then_ Lance hears no more. The silence reigns.

She shuts them off.

He knows she drives away, but he doesn’t hear her engine rev. He knows Allura can’t possibly be much more composed than him, but he doesn’t hear another wavering inhale. He knows she can’t see the wide open playground anymore. 

He knows she doesn't, but he doesn’t know _why._

He doesn’t know why he had to say goodbye.

_Oh you know exactly why, you just don’t want to._

Doesn’t want to, but thinks about it as he turns the ignition, listening to his idling car. Doesn’t want to think about anything at all, as he stares at all the open road ahead of him. Hears the echo of her unsaid _farewell_ as he looks to the other side of the road. 

He looks to the opposite way he came, because he loves Allura. 

He loves Allura.

He loves Allura, and he can’t think for a single goddamn reason how his love isn’t a loss. 

There’s a lot of things he’s thinking, not thinking, he’s trying to follow just _one_ steady stream of thought as he pulls out of the school parking lot. 

There’s the thought to call Rolo back. There’s the thought to drive out into the road so he doesn’t have to call anyone at all. 

_No, no. Don’t do that._

There’s one last thought that saves him. He thinks to hold on until the night comes. Night he’s going to make his salvation, and keep his car on the right side of the road until then. He thinks he can do at least that much, and then decide his next moves. 

So that’s what he does.

Wasting himself away until the dawn of night, Lance loafs around in his hotel room near the southern border of Missouri. He wanders the empty streets, not bothering to strap along his camera. He steps over every crack on the dry sidewalks. His feet lead him somewhere else, somewhere away and he has every inclination to squander everything he’s just gained. 

Night makes it easy for him to squander. When he’s done squandering his time at the hotel room, he squanders his money at the local bar. He drowns the noise and the sorrows with drink after drink. He squanders lucid thought under tonic after tonic.

The bartender should keep Lance’s tab open by the bottle.

Lance should know better and start heading back south. 

He applauds himself for his distant wisdom. Yes he could drive home! Yes he could turn around! Yeah, he can remember _Nicky and the boys_ are coming to pick him up, but honestly, with how many drinks he’s already downed, they can _come and get him_. 

Not like Lance is leaving this stool any time soon. As a matter of fact, the getting up or getting off his stool is about the only thing he does for days. The mornings pass, there’s no Allura. The evenings come, there’s no Nicky. Days pass in ill-tinted monotony and Thursday comes with no fanfare.

Ironically enough, Lance thinks it was his inactivity that kept Rolo, Nicky and the rest of his garbage friends off his trail. 

Thursday comes and passes with no great fanfare, and miraculously, Lance is still in one piece. He’s still living and breathing, as much as he can tell. 

_Living and breathing, but God at what cost._

Every once in a while when Lance is drunk or helpless enough, he pushes to share Allura’s sight. Still, nothing bleeds over to him so he quickly backs off. 

Thursday comes and goes, and he can’t help but think Allura’s already back home. She must be, shouldn’t she? If she really turned home and if she really went back the way they came. When they were supposed to meet the very day she decided to call it off. 

She must be back home already to Lotor’s arms. She must not have broken anything off between them then, and she must have cut Lance off for good. Lotor must have taken her back right away with all the damn worrying he was doing. 

Friday comes.

Friday comes, finding Lance climbing- _slinking, melting, dragging,_ his way out of bed. He slaps some water and soap over his face and he doesn’t want to bother with anything more. He shoves some fabric over his body, checks for his wallet and makes everyone accept that’s as presentable as it’s going to get. 

Friday drags on slower than Lance’s slapping feet on the ground. He feels every minute and second mulling over him. He feels rather like Allura in the agonizing moments.

_He wants to feel Allura again._

The sun comes, passes, then starts to set over Friday’s drudging sky.

_Finally._

Lance does little more than piss the day away in his usual manner.

_Squander it down, squander it out, squander himself away._

It works well enough. 

Friday goes about as well as the rest of the week has and Lance won’t be bothered to let himself feel the passing minutes anymore. 

 

 

—

 

This time, Allura doesn’t feel a strike, but a _yank._

This time, Allura doesn’t feel it retroactively. 

Some time, maybe Allura will learn her lesson about Lotor. 

 

—

 

Lance is knocked off his stool at the bar. All eyes are on him. Even with all of his strength he can’t pull himself back up and these hands won’t stop _grabbing his arms, won’t let go of him for nothing, they won’t let him go._

No matter how much he pleads, no matter how much he begs, no kick of his legs or pull of his arm or shift of his body can shake the men off of him.

 

—

 

Allura can’t let herself be dragged away. She can’t have Lotor try to stitch her back together like he did so long ago.

This time, she doesn’t even feel broken.

She wonders if this time, Lance won’t be there with her, too.

 

—

 

It’s not him.

The whole bar stares stares stares into Lance.

There’s no men.

No one’s grabbing him. No one’s dragging him away.

He had thought in his drunken haze, he’d made days both longer and shorter for himself and it was finally time for Nicky to bring him back. But it wasn’t. 

Friday is still setting all around him.

There are no men surrounding him.

There are no hands grappling at him, it’s not he that’s being dragged away.

_It’s Allura._

For those few short moments, Allura let Lance see through. But just because she does, doesn’t mean he has to like what he sees.

All he sees is florescent lights hanging drearily above him. Above Allura. Allura was dragged through an endless blue and grey hall and shoved into a cold, locked room. All Lance can see is a cell.

Allura was dragged back home, not for the sake of her wellness. Not for the sake of her convictions or her need to be good or her need to be right. Not for the sake of her pride.

Allura was yanked home for the sake of Lotor’s control.

 

—

 

Not again.

 

—

 

Friday rose, making Lance beg for the mercy of time to go faster. Every minute and second raked over his legs and back, submitting him to a pathetic crawl. 

Now seeing Allura back in a hospital where the walls close around her, where the air crushes against her, where the nurses are faceless down at her- Lance can’t keep up with the time racing against him.

Time has never been his friend. Granted, Lance has never had many friends to begin with, but that doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need time to be his friend. 

He’s going to make time his _bitch._

He’s going to make Friday stop where it is if he has to.

He’s going to save Allura for real. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're in the homestretch, people


	10. Salvation Redemption Defenestration

Allura was used to the cold. Allura was used to gray and chill and endless winters. She was used to snow until February. She was used to bundling herself to immobility just to keep herself warm. She was used to quantifying her life by the comings and goings of winter. She was used to the cold.

Allura was used to the cold, but it never meant she liked it any more.

In her room, winter doesn’t feel present but still imminent. She knows winter is rising outside, but she couldn’t say how close it is, now. She hasn’t felt the outside for a few days now. Allura gets to enjoy her own private, medicinal slice of winter. The cold’s sheen has never glowed so white.

She takes her snow with a cup of water. She’s beating the doldrums every time a medical technician comes and leaves her room. Allura bundles herself in the thin sheets of her bed. It’s all part of the season’s greetings.

In the psych ward, the woman's winter has never been so quiet.

She can only dread that Lance heard her being dragged away.

_How fitting would it be, now. For at this very moment, in the ward, to open up the link again._

Fitting. Quite.

Allura doesn’t need to break the silence that bad. Not yet. She resolves in the finality of her silence. Her loneliness. On the bare-fitted bed of her empty silent, room, there is nothing she wants more but needs less than Lance’s company. She curls in around herself and wants like never before than to open her connection.

The discrepancy between the want and need is so far between, all she can do is stare out. Shiver in the cold. Dwell in the silence. The more she dwells, the more she realizes she has never been alone. Not with Lance pushing and sliding into her sigh. But now she’s blocked him out.

The more she dwells, the more she realizes that she can feel the acute sting of loneliness even in the presence of company.

The more Lotor talks, the more alone she realizes she is.

_Dwelling is not for the faint of heart._

On her bed, Lotor sits with her. He is the ever-shifting winds in a blizzard, guiding her away from home.

“This is for the better, Allura."

She wants the cold to end.

"I couldn't bear to see just how much more this… this…” Lotor spits, “ _Friend_ of yours could hurt you.”

Lance was so much more.

“I can’t lose you anymore than I already have. I can’t have you losing anymore of yourself.”

She just wants to go home.

Lotor keeps saying words and using voice and having noise but Allura can hardly listen. She doesn’t nod. She scarcely blinks. Every word from Lotor is another bastard child over the cuckoo’s nest. Allura knows she’ll never reach flight at this rate, either.

“This will be good for you, dear.”

Allura would be angry if she had the energy.

“This… alone time will be good for you.”

If only Lotor knew the half of it. If only he knew how lonely she was long before her admission.

“You can take this time to come back to yourself. However long it takes.” Then he places a hand on her back. Then he says “I love you” and makes no sounds more. He walks out the room, leaving Allura to her silence.

She wills the sensation of his palm against her away. She shushes every noise and word and thought and sound from her mind.

On her plain, bare-fitted bed, she sits. She waits for salvation.

 

—

Lance busts ass like never before. Speeding on highways and interstates to warp space and time to hyperdrive, he’s suspicious of every cop behind him. He’s anxious about the setting sun around him. He wants to go faster, he needs to be _there already_ but stupid stuff like “the law” and “speed limits” keep mussing his flow.

He thinks to his quick-depleting savings.

He considers Allura’s state of being.

He remembers he has like, no luggage on him and nothing much left to lose.

Lance punches into his GPS, shooting off the exit to the nearest airport.

_What if Nicky and Rolo and Nyma are waiting for him there?_

Why would they if they didn't care enough to drag him back home on wheels?

Why is Lance still giving them the time of day?

He drives into the airport. He bolts out of his car fast as he can, _Guess that's another goodbye,_ slinging his backpack around him and not looking back.

Lance drums his hands over the counter as he books the quickest flight to LAX. He bounces his leg all durning the TSA check. He run-jogs to his terminal and can’t go fast enough.

He needs to be with Allura already.

Then he boards the plane. As they take off, he is all too aware that there are no wheels speeding on or coasting the ground. His ground is redefined. He wonders if Allura feels the floating in her stomach, too.

_Could…_

He wonders if he can’t try opening their link again.

From his crowded window seat, he keeps his voice down low as he whispers “Lura.” Silence. More urgently, “Allura.” Something hazy and warbling begins to amalgamate in the back of his mind. He asks again, “Can you hear me, tap one for yes and two for no.”

That’s gotta work, right?

Rustling cloth. Shaky exhale. A feminine voice, weak and timid replies “ _Lance?”_

Allura's voice is too small for its own good. He's gotta fix that. But first thing’s first, “Allura. Allura. What happened?”

The woman pushes herself upright. “Lotor put me in here. Ezor thought I was having an affair and…” She runs her fingers through her hair, pushing it over her shoulder. “I guess that's what pushed him over the edge.”

The warbling is getting even more jumbled but all Lance can feel is _mad._

“Wait, but. Can Lotor even do that?”

“ _I don’t know_.” Allura speaks like she _doesn’t want to know._ “I’ve never been afraid of him, Lance. Not like this.”

It’s a warbling, it’s a suffusing of feeling. It's a loss of will. Lance feels his anger being sucked out of him, left only with the emptiness that comes with being-

“Are you underwater, Allura? What are they giving you, there?”

“ _Lotor gave me these pills._ ” Tired, so tired and beaten Allura says “ _I took them. I had to take them. I couldn't refuse even if I wanted to.”_

Lance's rage isn’t helping anything or anyone. He needs a redirect, refocus on the objective.

“Do you know where you are?”

Apparently so. In a clinic just outside of Malibu, she looks outside her skimpy window to give him a view.

“ _It’s a mental institution.”_

As far as Lance is concerned, there’s only one person in Allura’s life that needs to be in a mental institution.

He checks around to make sure no one’s listening in. When the coast is clear again he opens his mouth, but the captain’s overhead voice cuts him off. He knows Allura hears.

“ _Are you on a plane_?” Not bewildered or even surprised. The woman just asks in point blank curiosity.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm coming your way."

Then it registers.

“Just hold tight, Allura.”

She smiles.

But it quickly fades. He moves to the next part of his mission. He asks Allura to look around her room, give a full panoramic. Slowly, sluggishly she slips out of bed, taking in every detail and object around her.

It has to be enough.

Then he touches back down. He drags his feet out the plane. He feels the time difference in new and unusual ways but it’s crunch time. He’s got no time to lose.

Haggling with the car rental lady gets him no time back, but it doesn’t stop him from tapping at the counter again. Or jostling his leg, again. After he gets his keys, _fills out all the goddamn paperwork,_ he’s on the road again.

He’s coming for Allura.

She only needs to hold on.

 

—

 

What Allura _needs_ to do besides succumbing to her silence and wait for the other half of her brave and valiant rescue- is figure out how the hell to work this lock.

“ _I didn’t spend all that time as a felon to have nothing to show for it._ ”

This is the third time Lance has had to tell her, from the beginning, how to work this lock with a fork. She’s going to get it, though. Fourth’s times a charm.

“ _To the left, a little._ ” He turns his own hand as he zips down the road. Allura worries for his wandering eyes.

“Okay, okay. It’s to the left.”

“ _There should be an empty space in there, see if you can find it._ ”

The woman’s not even behind the wheel and she’s too flustered. “I can’t do it, Lance!” She shakes out her hands.

“ _You got this. You got this,_ ” he coaxes. He laughs to himself more than anything, “ _Don’t worry babe, we’ll make a professional criminal out of you, yet._ ”

It’s all the better she doesn’t hear; she’s too busy giving him directions. As she looks out to his highway, she sees his exit.

“Oh, turn here.”

“ _Got it._ ”

“Though I have to say, I didn’t know there were ‘amateur criminal.’ Are there tears to the professional level?”

Ah. She did hear.

Nothing gets past her.

 _Not this bloody lock, either._ With another push of two shoved-in fork prongs, the lock turns with a satisfying _click._

Allura breathlessly laughs. Lance claps in pride.

“Oh my word. Oh my goodness, Lance, I actually did that. I did that, I did that-“

“ _You sure did. You’re a natural,_ ” he winks. The road around him starts propping up with population. “ _I think I’m getting close, though. What’s my next move?_ ”

“Keep driving through town. It’s not deep in the city, you can’t miss it.”

“ _Okay. Okay. All the way through town. Got it. Cool_.” He takes a deep breath. “ _I think you should start heading out too if I’m already close. Is the coast clear?_ ”

Allura pops her head up to peak outside the door window. _Oh YIKES, a therapist-_ pops her head back down. She sits with her back to the door, calming her racing heart.

“ _Calm down Allura. You got this. You got this. Just wait ’til they leave the hall. Try again._ ”

She pops her head back up one more time. The hall is empty. The echos are still. The coast is clear.

It only shoots her heart rate right back up.

“ _Nervous_?” A wild guess from Lance.

“Yeah. Yes, yes.”

“ _Well hey,”_ the moment of truth. The calm before the storm. “ _You know, once you get out of there we could…”_ They could? “ _Where have you always wanted to go?_ ”

“What do you mean?”

“ _Anywhere. Anywhere in the world. We can go… Gosh, to Canada. I can go back home to Cuba. Maybe not the smartest idea. Wanna go to Guam?”_

“Guam!” she giggles.

“ _Anywhere you want, Allura._ ” He keeps pushing down the road. “ _Where have you always hoped to go?_ ”

She lets his dreams blur into hers. “Always hoped to go… Anywhere I wanted. _”_

“ _You wanna run away together?_ ”

Wants are no longer up to Allura’s discretion. They’re no longer a choice, to begin with. She knows the only thing on the line is her needs, and she _needs_ to get _out._

_Get out of the room first, you silly girl._

She slowly lifts her head to peer out one last time. She scopes up and down the hallway. Lance can see and hear and feel her hesitation.

“ _Just walk on out, Allura. Nothing to be scared of. People don’t look twice if you look like you know what you’re doing._ ”

Look like she knows what she’s doing.

Perfect.

She shakes out her shoulders as she stands. If she looks back into her room she knows she’d never be able to move on, so she walks out without a second glance.

 _The need is to get_ away.

Her heart is beating in double-time, thundering right up against her ribcage. She prays no one can hear its resounding pulse in the adjacent rooms. She glides her feet as softly as she can, heading to the closest, most unassuming door.

As she walks, she realizes in the noise of Lance’s vision and her own mind, that Lance isn’t saving her. Not yet. Not right now. The only thing Lance is doing, truly, is giving her the courage to save herself.

She alone walks herself to the nearest staircase. She alone treads its descent, slipping down step after step. She alone reaches the first floor, creeping back out into another great unknown.

 _Alone,_ she walks into an open, bustling room. Faces crying, faces smiling, faces blank beyond recognition all flash before her and her heart thunders on but she alone pushes forward. _Alone,_ she’s walking out.

No one on this floor recognizes her. No one in this room is someone that she recognizes but she keeps to the fringes to play it safe. She weaves in and out of patients and doctors, slipping away without raising suspicion until-

“Oh no,” she bites out.

“ _What, what. What’s up, what’s wrong?_ ”

“It’s Doctor Sendak _._ ”

Lead doctor of the whole facility. Not like he's important or anything. Not like Allura was bloody terrified before.

“ _You’re okay. You’re okay, you’ve got this. You’re a professional, remember._ ”

She turns to a weeping patient, rubbing his shoulder blade like the therapist beside him. She turns her back to the doctor, fake-consoling and real-panicking as he passes by.

Not two feet from Allura, Dr. Sendak leans down to speak with someone else, voice hard and stoic like the rest of his person. He doesn’t spare the woman another glass. She could have sworn he would have smelled her racing blood from that close.

As soon as he’s far enough passed, she slinks away from him with jerky steps. She keeps her whole body stiff. She doesn’t move a single muscle more than humanly necessary.

Before she fully crosses to the other side of the room, she pulls a coat from the back of a chair. She slips it on and over herself. She keeps her head forward.

She, alone, walks on.

 

—

 

These freakin _stop lights._

Lance races through every yellow, almost running every red light flashing over him. He feels the pounding of Allura’s heart and he can _taste_ the medicinal chemicals emanating from the clinic. It makes him want to gag.

It sends him into hyperdrive.

Every second Allura spends in the hospital is another second spent under Lotor's grasp.

It makes Lance’s blood _boil._

He keeps his eyes on the road, but his head in the game. He keeps himself cognizant of where Allura is as he drives through the streets in town. As far as he knows, she’s out of that… recreation room of sorts, and crossing into the main lobby.

Her heart is pounding. His hands are sweating. The moment is stretching and swelling and tilting and shaking 'til-

“ _No._ ”

She turns the other way.

From the receptionist counter, Lotor signs papers and checks his watch.

Allura’s heart can’t beat if it’s wholly _stopped._

Lance feels his own plummet to his lap.

She whips her head from the empty hallway to facing the lobby. She whips it back around. Everything in a Allura feels blank and surrendered, save for her swearing,

“ _No. No, no no no, Lance. I can’t. I can’t do this, I can't approach Lotor. Not now, I can’t do it. No, I-“_

As it is, she’s still effectively alone. Her salvation is still in the first phase of its two-fold process. She needs to walk out. She needs to get away.

“You need to calm down, Allura. You can do this.”

He doesn't need to read her mind to know her sentiments about that particular comment.

 

—

 

Allura doesn't believe Lance for a second. If she doesn't believe Lance, she has only one other person to think to believe in.

She believes in her own damn self.

Shaking out her shoulders, she repeats “okay, okay, okay, I can do this” until she thinks no other thought. She streamlines her goal. She lets the noise fizzle out.

With her head tilted down and her arms tucked close, she strides past Lotor as silently as possible.

Not silent enough.

He catches wind of her steps, then catches a glimpse of her face.

“Allura?”

He moves his arms out to grab her, but she has no time for that particular nonsense.

It’s time for her hand to take the offensive.

With all of her might, she winds her arm back and lets Lotor _have it_. Her fisted knuckles immediately sting on impact. He goes down without a fight.

Everything within her is _thrilled._

“ _Damn, Allura!”_

Does Lance sound… impressed?

“It was time to give instead of receiving a strike to our face. It’s only fair,” she pants.

As she shakes out her hands, she opens the final set of doors. She crashes into it, running out into the open air around her.

She’s out.

Allura made it _out._

Allura’s out of the hospital and away from Lotor and now all she needs is the away.

The woman needs to get away.

As she sprints from the chaos she created, she doesn’t spot Lance’s rental. The air seems so wild around her and her heart hasn’t bothered to calm in the slightest so her voice is positively unconfined when she cries,

“Where are you?”

She tries to glean over to his sight but it’s just as hectic as hers. Where could Lance _be?_

The heavy footfalls of security men trail Allura, giving chase in her wake.

_Where could Lance be?_

All Allura knows is to run. She runs out and away and she runs like she never has before. Her hair whips behind her, her heart lurches inside her. She awaits for Lance’s call but his silence continues on.

Blindly she races forwards, out, away, away, _away,_ but she knows her fuse is fast-burning. The security guards can easily outrun her any day. The open roads outside give her no place to hide.

The dangerous, fiery beat of her heart is the only rhythm she’s running to until-

“ _Allura. Look left.”_

An engine.

A familiar car.

_A vision out of a dream._

Lance’s face.

Allura can hardly believe her eyes. As she sprints, Lance slows his car to match her speed beside her. He trails beside her, keeping the car at her pace, frantically watching as the distance between herself and the guards keeps closing.

He jerks to a stop.

She hears Lance’s voice doubled as he shouts, “Get in!”

 

—

 

He has no time to lose.

Now it’s his turn to do the saving.

He pulls Allura into his car, then rips away.

 

—

 

The woman looks out of the passenger window, watching the security men finally give up the chase. She watches them a few moments more, watching them bend down to hold their hands on their knees.

Lance keeps his eyes peeled to the road. Allura wishes she could afford the same luxury. She knows better than to exhale. Knows more than to let herself off the hook.

As they race back out into the streets of the city, Allura can feel Lance gradually slowing down. She can tell he doesn't remember they're still in the heart of a chase. She’d be wise to warn him.

She would have, if she had the time.

As Lance carries them in and out of Malibu proper, another set of cars give pursuit.

_Lotor._

The sleek black car flanking Lance’s left is easily Lotor’s; Allura scarcely needs to look inside to see its owner, or his recoiling face.

To the right is someone she doesn’t quickly recognize, but is still frighteningly remembers. Ezor and Acxa both lock eyes with Allura, and crowd Lance’s car to push them closer to Lotor.

The light before them switches yellow.

Lotor is quickly encroaching.

Allura and Lance don't say a word, only looking up to each other. Then to the racing cars beside them. To the daunting light before them. They know what they must do.

Lance floors his pedal, zipping away to leave Lotor and the women behind. They turn on the next street, hoping to slip away from their sight.

They don’t speed down for anything. Lance leads them out of the city, back onto the open roads. Silent, silent they stay as the adrenaline still oozes and sweats their way through them. Silent, Allura points to guide them north away from the city and into the forests. Away from the palm trees and into the redwoods.

Allura still catches her breath, holding her hand to her heart, desperate to force effectiveness of her deep breathing exercises.

They keep driving.

The sun softens.

Allura’s heart slows and abates.

Lance’s breath softens and evens.

No cars follow them, still. No chase persists in pursuit. No thought fills either of their minds except for the hazy humming of idle static.

Now, Allura lets herself exhale.

Before they know it, trees all around them stretch up and tower over them. Their trunks magnificent in width, ancient in their height. The redwoods densely packed around them shelter all their fears and all their panic from without. It nurtures silence from within.

The winding roads into the woods forces Lance into a different kind of alertness. He takes it up, following it down and lets himself exhale, too.

He drives them to a protruding shoulder; a lookout cliff to take photos of a moseying stream below. He stops the car.

He stops the car.

She swallows deep.

At last.

_At last._

Allura thinks she’s a new fan of this silence. It's loaded, but it's not heavy. It’s not weighted in the way another lover used to look at her. It’s not charged with any expectation of reciprocation.

No… No, instead, there’s only-

_Lance._

Lance. She finally gets to look at Lance.

Lance in the flesh, Lance as he lives and breathes and smiles and stares back.

The one who drove them out and away. The one who showed her the courage to see a choice.

 

—

 

Allura is beautiful beside him. Not the gentle-running stream, not the gold and red lights of the sunset playing over the redwood leaves- not the spattering of stars above of the inky expanse of his favorite nights; not any of it has ever been more beautiful than Allura is now.

Allura, in her hospital clothes and her frizzing hair. Allura with her wide eyes and her disbelieving face.

Allura, finally. In the flesh. As she lives and breathes. And as she looks back to him with her glittering irises, reflecting back to him all of the golden sun's light. As she reaches out to him with shaking, hesitant hands.

He leans over in his seat to help her. He turns more fully to face her, and rests his weary head in her soft hands.

She traces the lines and creases on contours of his face, moving down his neck then over his chest.

He’s afraid to take even one breath out of place. He’s afraid to break the moment with a single word but he has to. He has to.

As they look into each other’s eyes, cataloging every minute detail after years years _years_ of the apart, Lance says their first real words together.

“This is going to be kinda wild for a little bit, isn't it."

Allura doesn’t seem to know whether to laugh or cry. She does a little of both.

Heeding wisdom closer, she says no word in return.

She sends him into yet another adrenaline rush of the day.

Allura is a woman of _action_.

With every unspoken word, with every thought not wise to breach. With every hope and dream and fantasy that was best kept locked away, Allura brings their faces closer to quell the passion.

She looks in his eyes.

He doesn’t know why she’s bothering to wait for permission.

They come together.

On the side of the shoulder of the masked redwood forest, Lance and Allura kiss in something like a greeting. Something like a parting. They kiss to bring in every thing divine, letting in only diffused light and gentle silence.

_No lover's lips have every been softer._

They kiss to part and trample over every harsh chemical, all empty noise and worthless hurt.

_No lover’s taste has ever been sweeter._

As Lance’s lips move over Allura’s, she can’t help but feel the shiver down to her finger tips. She feels her strength in her thighs.

As Lance finally gets to savor in Allura, he can’t help the drifting coherency of his mind. He kisses without abandon. With every passion.

They kiss, and Allura has found her home. Lance drinks her in and all his hopes and dreams become jealous of _him_. He no longer envies the gods.

Kissing, laughing, dwelling and savoring, Lance and Allura lose time on the shoulder next to the gentle stream in the redwood forest.

He learns to lose every hope and dream if it isn’t by Allura’s side. He learns his hopes were drivel, anyway. His home can’t be just a pile of bricks.

As they hold each other, they have no reason for hope anymore when every hope has been made manifest.

As they greet each other still, they can’t quell the hopes and dreams they now have to _spare._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end


End file.
